


Rise of a Commander

by cosmicfuss



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant until episode 4x09, Canon Divergent, F/M, Past Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Past Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Roan (The 100) Lives, Roan POV, more tags may be added, slowburn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-16
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2019-03-19 13:19:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 30,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13705302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicfuss/pseuds/cosmicfuss
Summary: The first time they meet, he holds a blade to her throat and binds her hands, ready to sacrifice her for his people.Oh, where do the years go?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was going to be a lot shorter, really just a way for me to get used to Roan's POV. I also didn't have a beta/editor, but I tried to fix any mistakes I could! Let me know if I missed anything!!! This chapter is mostly just laying everything down, it'll start to pick up a lot more soon

No one said leading was easy. Having a power-hungry mother never helped. In fact, nothing really ever seemed to  _help_  Roan. His mother cared for her own interests, not those of her people. Especially not those of the Commander. His mother told him to gather information on the girl, and the subsequent actions got him exiled. His mother had sat by idly, too absorbed in her power to show pity. So, no, fate had not offered him many olive branches in his life.

Until the  _wanheda_.

Surviving hadn't been  _easy_  by any means, but he'd gotten by as a bounty hunter, always on the verge of living comfortably but never quite crossing the threshold- comfortable, of course, meaning sleeping without ache of hunger in his stomach and the sting of wounds scattered across his body.

He sound her at a small trading post, doing her best to appear nonchalant as she looked at the girl's inventory. Her hair had been red, only throwing him off for the briefest second until he took in how tense she really was, how she kept her face pointed away at all times.

The girl who seemed to own the post said she had been in two days ago, and Roan resolved to at least wait around until nightfall. If his suspicions were incorrect, he wouldn't be too much further off from finding her than he already was.

So he waited.

And she came out through the back.

He, at least, gave her kudos for keeping under the radar thus far.

Knife to her throat, Roan guided her into the forest. He already knew where to take her, it was just a matter of getting there.

 _Wanheda_ , he found soon, would not be making this easy for either of them. They walked until daybreak, finding a bank to travel parallel to. Fatigue threatened him but he kept it at bay, having gotten a few hours of rest in while he initially waited outside the trade post.

She, it seemed, had left soon after her fornication. As the midday sun rose higher,  _wanheda_ 's energy drained further. He tugged her ropes, gruffly demanding she keep moving. It wasn't until she fell face-first into the rocks that he actually stopped.

"Looks like the great  _wanheda_  is human after all," he muttered, stooping by the water for a refill. It wasn't long before ropes encircled his throat, head submerged in water. Having been in something like this before, he knew what to do. Of course, last time  _he_  had been the fool. He struggled for a minute, slowly letting himself go slack.

As soon as she released him he was on her, pushing her head under the water. He held her under with relative ease, waiting until she was weak but not unconscious to bring her back up. She knelt in the water, staring up at him. The red berry she must've used to stain her hair was washed out, her mouth open gasping for air, and there was fear in her eyes, instinctual and impossible to hide. Awe too, maybe, or thankfulness for not being killed.

"Now that's better," he said under his breath, not sure if he was referring to the fear in her gaze or the  way her blonde hair made her look close to what he'd pictured at the name ' _wanheda_.'

"Ice nation." Roan knew the dirt that had covered his face was washed off, but he hadn't had the time to realize that meant she would know now. He closed his mouth, corner twisting up in a- he wasn't sure. He stood, pulling her up with him. He wondered if the look in her gaze was because of his actions or being a part of Azgeda.

He's sure she doesn't fear him, not in the sense that many people do. She grew feistier after that, creating problem after another. First it's the ice nation scouts, all three dying by his hand but, he tells her, by her fault. The third man falls on top of her, and Roan barely has time to react before she stabs him with the man's weapon. It doesn't help, obviously, but it's easy enough to take the knife from her and hold it to her neck.

"If you were going to kill me you would've done it already," she dares him and, really, he thinks about it.

"There's still time."

Then her partner tracked them down, eliminating the possibility of any rest. The good thing that came out of it was that she gave her word to come with him peacefully. It was the only reason he'd spared the man. The pleading look in her eyes, tears brimming, had minimal impact but they told him she was genuine in her words. Roan stabbed his leg and knocked him out so they wouldn't be followed, a merciful act all things considered.

Of course, things are never just  _simple_  for Roan, not once. He delivers  _wanheda_  to the  _heda_ , telling her all he asks as reward for the bounty is for his punishment to be lifted. She tells him that she'll honor the bounty when his mother honors the coalition, that she plans to march on Polis.

One more disappointment in a sea of them.

Roan decided it was time for a new approach. He bribed a guard to leave a knife under Clarke's pillow, told her that if she killed Lexa then his mother, Queen of Azgeda, would show her mercy when she became ruler of the coalition.

Roan knew this wouldn't happen when Clarke bowed to Lexa at the summit, following suit himself after, and Lexa declared Skaikru to be accepted as the thirteenth clan in the coalition.

When his mother showed up later in the week and staged a coup, Roan was put forward as the one who will fight on Queen Nia's side against Lexa.

When Lexa kills his mother, Roan finds he isn't all that upset. When Ontari steps forward to become the next Commander, he is... distressed, yes, but accepting. She is Azgeda, is his excuse to Clarke. What he doesn't admit is that he cannot protect his people if he does not support Ontari as Commander. If his mother was hungry for power, Ontari was  _famished_.

 When shit started spiraling, he thought of his debt to Lexa, not killing him during their battle, and helped Clarke and one of her people, Murphy, escape Polis.

"Next time we meet, it won't be as friends," he warned. There's a daring glimmer in her eye that made him think he didn't quite have a choice in the matter.

When Ontari ordered him to find Clarke and the flame, he hadn't leave Polis with the full intention of allying himself with the  _wanheda_. It is, perhaps, looming in the back of his mind, whispering that that is what's best for his people, not Ontari. His people will be protected by Ontari, he knows this.

Maybe that's why he agrees to ally himself with Clarke, to let her ascend Ontari. Maybe it's something else entirely. Who knows, maybe it's the way her partner shoots him in the arm and knocks him unconscious - he can't even be mad about that, it makes them even.

One thing he knows for certain is that many of her people did  _not_  want him there, if the daggers in their eyes and venom in their tones had been any indication.

While they planed, Roan gained a new appreciation for Clarke. She spoke with authority but never came off as a dictator. It's a different side of ruling than that he's come to grow used to from his mother.

It's that look in her eyes, intelligent and calculating without seeming cold and abrasive, that he thinks of when the former Chancellor of her people, Kane, shoots him in the chest. Somewhere, somewhat distantly, he can hear Clarke screaming words. 

If fate determined that it was his time to die, then so be it.

He felt cold, and it brought him back to simpler years. Days when his mother's father was in power and her only job was to have strong children; she had always said Roan was her strongest, being her eldest. She told him that before him, she had been pregnant, that the baby had died in her body. That he had gotten that child's strength.

He thought of his early adulthood, only just eighteen, teaching his sister of eleven how to throw daggers. She had always loved knives, mostly butcher and cooking knives. As one of the youngest and assured she would likely never rule she had grown up free to indulge in hobbies other than strategic planning and weaponry. She was free-spirited, until she got too close to a fight in town and was buried in barrels. Healers said she died instantly.

Roan thought about how different his life could've been, wondering briefly if this is all that death was: thinking through your life and picturing the ifs and maybes you were never granted in life. He thought of himself as a trader. What if he had met  _wanheda_  while she isolated herself? He could've offered her food, shelter, a bed.

Then was life as part of a coastal tribe, he had heard of such clans before. People who left their lives to start new somewhere else, who were tired of bloodshed and fighting, who wanted different for their children. They would set up along the coast and feed on the fish and seaweed the ocean provided. He could easily picture  _wanheda_  ending up someplace like that, on the run from her people and the memories that haunted her.

Life as one of Trikru, someone who found the Skaikru before they started any wars, before their people were captured by Mount Weather. He could have been one of the original people to meet her, to maybe help avoid the losses and pain that had come of her people. It brought a pain to his heart that he didn't realize he could feel in death.

The pain grew stronger, the scent and taste of metal filling his mouth. He can hear sounds; yelling, feet shuffling, commands. Even the dim light of flames in the room makes his head spin as he sits up, stifling a groan.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginnings of trust; only time will tell if it's misplaced or not.

He heard a familiar voice, " _For my Queen!_ "

"Wait." The word made him cough, the taste of metal in his mouth stronger. He locked eyes with Clarke, relief evident in her stare. He couldn't be sure if it was because he's alive or because she is. Both, he hoped.

"Help us, tell them we're friends," he rose at Clarke's words, coughing harder.

"You shouldn't try to stand so soon," he recognized the voice as her mother's, the healer. Or doctor, as she'd called herself.

"Where's Ontari?" It's the most he can manage, leaning onto a table for support with one hand, the other holding the cloth at his chest to stop blood.

"Dead, sire." Echo responded, the heat of earlier gone in her voice. "Killed by-"

"We couldn't save her." Clarke spoke up, "but we did what we came here to do. Now I need you to honor your promise to protect my people."

"Yeah that was before your  _people_  shot me and killed my commander." He may not have liked Ontari, had disliked her even, but she was the Commander, someone all clans would listen to.

"We just saved your damn life," Octavia's voice wasn't as sharp as he would expect, in fact he would call it borderline disgusted and angry. Echo walked past them, and he saw Clarke's eyes follow her.

"Roan, your people are hungry for you to lead them. Do so now, as your mother would have. Kill  _wanheda_ , take her power, and rule over everything." He locked eyes with Clarke; her gaze was guarded but he could still see the betrayal.

He has them locked up instead, needing time to think all variables through. He's heating a blade when Echo informs him that they're secure, urging him again to kill them and end Skaikru altogether.

"Not yet."

"Forgive me for saying so, but we can't afford for our people to think you're weak." Roan took the blade and put it to his chest, cauterizing the bullet wound. He could almost feel her biting her tongue at that, the mood tangibly changing.

"Call me weak again."

"I meant no offense."

"Yeah you did." He dropped the blade in a bucket of water to cool. "Say your piece." And she did. He could tell she wanted to appeal to his emotions, mentioning his people first, then his mother, finishing by saying that his loss caused his war chiefs to lose respect for him.

"Then I'll get new war chiefs."

"The army is loyal to them, not to you."

"And who are you loyal to, spy?" He can see her demeanor shift as she changes tactics and, really, she must think him a fool to buy into her words.

"I am loyal to my clan, to my king. Let me serve you, I can help you do what your mother never could, what Ontari never could."

"Rule them."

"Yes. Trikru is weak, ready to fall, and Skaikru is more hated than ever. Give the order to take them both out and our war chiefs will follow you. Give them  _wanheda's_  head while you do it and they will  _worship_ you." She put the crown in his hands, made of bone and antlers. "Bring honor to your grandfather's crown."

Roan just excused her, slumping on the throne seat when the doors close, crown in hand. Echo let her own distrust get in the way of her judgement, but he could see  _wanheda's_  value.

Clarke's value.

She was innovative, bright, always looked out for her people. Roan could relate to that much, at least. She was passionate when she spoke, had a tone that cut deeper than any he'd heard before. She was the Commander of Death, had decided for fate that it was not yet Roan's time. It was his turn to decide hers, he figured as he put the crown atop his head.

He ordered she be brought to the throne room, excusing Echo again when they arrived.

Clarke informed him of the next  _praimfaya_ , one that would kill everyone again. That this would be greater than the last, would leave  _no_ survivors. Crowds cheered outside, yelling and hollering for her head, unaware that she was with their king now.

"Listen to them. I let you live, I'll be dead in six  _days_ , much less six months. Sorry. Can't." She looked down, then out the window. Her face was resigned yet still maintaining stoic dignity. He watched her for a second, saw her debating mentally.

"I'll give you this," she extended her hand, opening her palm to reveal the flame.

"Tell me a good reason I shouldn't take that and cut your head off."

"I just did, because you know I wouldn't even show you this unless what I were saying is true." He did. "Take it, the clans will follow you that's what you  _want_."

"I  _want_  what's best for my people, same as you." There was less bite to his tone than he'd initially gone for. It came out... flatter, somehow. Tired, but passionate.

"Then help me  _save_  them." She was pleading at this point. Not for her own life, but for his, for her people, for his people. "Roan listen to me, you wanted an ice nation Commander and with this you control who ascends. There will never be a Commander to rule over Azgeda unless you allow it." She stopped, letting him mull it over in his head. He doesn't need the extra time, but he takes it. He reached for the flame slowly, almost unsure. When it was in his palm, he walked away.

Roan stood before the crowds, speaking with authority as he addresses his people. He told them he honors the coalition set by the last Commander, that an attack on Skaikru is an attack against all twelve clans. He managed to find Clarke in the crowd and she nodded to him, a signal of her thanks. He observed briefly that she stood next to her partner, the man looming close by her side.

When all was said and he returned back to the throne room, followed by Echo. She congratulated him, informing him that she ordered for heightened security.

"I trust only Azgeda, your mother taught me that and the people loved her for it." Roan can hear how pleased with herself she is at the quip.

"The people feared her."

"Her fierceness, her ambition," she continued as if she hadn't heard him.

"My mother's ambition to disregard Lexa's coalition, her ambition for power, is what got her killed." He keeps the emotion out of his voice and, honestly, it isn't that hard.

"If I may, why do you insist on ruling as Lexa did, when it's not what's best for our people? At least tell me there is a reason." He paused. He knew what it was, but he also knew she needed to hear something else. Lexa's rule brought the clans closer than ever before to true peace, she fought to end all fighting, and established trade between the clans so pilfering villages was less often an occurrence. Clarke is another reason. She knew Lexa well, shared many of those same ideals. She inspired her people and led only because she cared enough about them  _to_ lead.

The door opened before he could voice anything, Octavia and Kane standing at the entrance.

"We'd like to talk. Privately." Kane said, and Echo turned with a glare.

"You can wait, like all the other ambassadors."

"Echo leave us. Please" The last part was almost an afterthought, knowing she was growing less and less attached to the words 'King' and 'Roan' together.

Kane told him that one of the new ambassadors is going to challenge him, that he among others were plotting against him as their king. He couldn't say he was surprised, he'd expected as much. Kane insists he go talk to the ambassador, at the very least, and Roan grants him permission.

He knew he couldn't back down and he couldn't refuse the battle. The ambassadors needed to know their opinions mattered to whoever ruled and, at the moment, it didn't really seem that they did. He'd not only allowed Clarke to live but protected Skaikru. Rejecting the battle could tip all the clans against Azgeda.

It's a lapse in judgement, he later realizes at the end of their sparring match, to tell Echo why he has fought so hard to keep Skaikru safe. 'A chance to survive the end of the world.' She disregards their words, Clarke's words, calls Skaikru liars. She asks to go to Arcadia and disprove their loyalty to him, to his people. He tells her her job is to make sure he's ready to win his battle, afterwards she may leave.

When the time for battle came, Clarke is the only person to approach him on his throne.

"It doesn't have to be like this." Roan could see a small bit of pleading her eyes.

"This is our way." Clarke has the grace to nod at that, at least, and returns to her seat as ambassador. She had said that she had been Skaikru's representative while Lexa reigned, and would continue to do so for Roan's.

He could see the brief relief in her eyes when Echo entered the throne room, whispering in his ear, and he had to announce that the ambassador was dead. She remained silent as Roan led the room in a brief prayer for his soul, and continued to do so as he dismissed the summit.

He wasn't sure what to expect when a knock came at his door, his guard signalling someone wanted entry.

" _Wanheda_  wishes to enter,  _haihefa_."

"Let her in." Clarke lingers by the door as Roan sat on the bed, peeling his boots and socks off. The silence from her was new and, while not entirely unwelcome, uncomfortable. She stayed quiet still when he unbuckled his furs, resting them on a chair. She just stood, quiet.

"Have you just come to stare at me?" It's meant to be light, put some, any, emotion on her face. It almost worked, the corner of her mouth twisting into a half-grin that didn't quite transfer to her eyes. That may have been the most unnerving part, she had always been so expressive with her eyes and the guarded lack of anything was... New.  _Un_ welcome, he decided.

"I should leave." Roan could tell she snapped at herself for the way her tone wavered. He didn't say anything, prompting her to continue. "Your people don't trust me, I'm a reminder of the group of people they hate more than anything. And not just your people, everyone."

Roan thought about it for a second, just one.

"And they  _didn't_  hate you when Lexa ruled?" Her gaze darkened at that, and for a second she looked far off in her own head. It was rare to see, so he let her have it.

"Not as much as they do now. Before they had a Commander to follow, and I got that Commander killed. I'd say there's a touch more animosity now." Clarke offered a small smile with the words; a warm feeling of relief coursed through him, a little surprising.

Roan paused, not sure how to continue from there. Sure, he could easily continue on like this with their slight ease around each other as is, likely to develop into some semblance of actual trust. Which was highly,  _highly_  dangerous. Or he could tell her to go back to her people to let that warmth die down. Which was safer, in the long run, but meant losing Skaikru's ambassador and thus their representation, so that if there was a coup similar to the one his mother had held against Lexa he would be thrown off the throne and his people would die of radiation in  _praimfaya_. Either way, someone loses and he'd rather it be him.

"Do the clans' ambassadors sit on the throne?" She opened her mouth to speak, but he continued over her. "While Lexa ruled, she took her ambassadors' words into consideration, am I wrong?" Reluctantly, Clarke shook her head. "But they did not rule her, they did not intimidate her. We may have had our... differences, " Clarke chuckles at that, "but I believe she led her people to peace, to something more than bloodshed."

"Roan-"

"You knew her better than me." If Clarke was pained by the words she hid it well. "You are the last person alive who knew what she wanted, what potential she saw in the clans. All thirteen of them." Roan watched the way she exhaled, how her shoulders seemed to sag.

"It's weird, you know. How we started off." Clarke smiled and it reached her eyes and Roan doesn't even  _feel_  it but he's smiling too.

"You mean how you tried to kill me?" He chuckled, and she laughed with him.

"No, I mean how you kidnapped me. Probably wouldn't have tried that if you hadn't started it." It's strange, how in such a short amount of time he'd put faith in her. It felt like a risk, but a calculated one. Either her people found a way for them all to live, or they betrayed the alliance and Roan was forced to go to war with them and no one lived.

He just doesn't expect to feel the heaviness of that thought so soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so this was semi-canon divergent, but it doesn't get super off-book until chapter four so I'm letting the tag stay as-is.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An alliance strengthens, and loyalty takes place of betrayal as a betrayal takes place of loyalty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is longer than the first two, so that's cool.

When Bellamy and Bryan were brought in the following morning, bound and gagged, he felt Clarke tense beside him in the throne room. His guards explained to him that they were found hunting in Azgeda lands, and Echo said she caught the people of Arkadia rebuilding their ship. 'A backup plan for if no other solutions can be found,' one of the men said.

"Take them to the cells. They are hostages. Skaikru is no longer part of the coalition." Roan could hear Clarke next to him but he blocked out her words. He felt her hands on him, urging him to look at her. He didn't. Roan found his feet moving for him, going back to his quarters.

He got about an hour of silence before his guard knocked, telling him that she's there to see him.

"Roan-"

"No, Clarke. Your people went behind my back, behind  _your_  back. They lied to the coalition, they broke this alliance." If someone were to take him out of his life at that moment and ask him what he expected Clarke to do next, he'd say she may either yell at him or vent in some other way, show anger or sadness.

Clarke just stands there silently, and somehow it's worse than when she'd literally stabbed him in the gut.

It's a new silence, different than when she'd been deliberating in her head over a choice. This was a dry, angry silence. Her feet were firm and her stance unwavering, head held high and eyes trained on him. It struck him again how much she said with her eyes.

She was angry and understanding and disappointed and-

Roan wasn't sure how much deeper he wanted to analyze this.

"I am sorry, Clarke." He was. In all truth Roan didn't  _want_  to kill her people, he just  _needed_  to save his own. "If you stay here, I can keep you safe. I may not be able to do the same for the rest, but one person I can manage," he offers, already expecting her next words. These, at least, were predictable enough.

"Let me go and talk to them, I can negotiate." He sighed through his nose, staring at the wall. "Roan,  _please_ , I can fix this." When he met her gaze again she was standing an inch away from him, eyes wide and pleading.

"I don't know what you think you can do, but if you leave I can't help you." Clarke didn't waver. "Go now. Take a horse, discreetly." She nodded once, still staring  at him.

"Thank you." Roan can see the full truth of the words in her eyes, feeling a corner of his mouth turn up.

"Go." When the door closed, he rubbed a hand over his face, wondering how much he'd regret the choice.

He sound out a few days later, small green dots appearing all over his body as he stared Clarke down again. He revealed the two hostages to her, watching her eyes focus in on her partner, Bellamy. Roan glanced down to the man's face and saw his anguish, his worry.

She asked that they have a more private meeting, and, against Echo's obvious resentment and disapproval, he obliged. He followed after her, entering an above-ground cave. Roan had to give her credit, even knowing that his army is present and that her partner and Chancellor are his hostages she still didn't sound resentful.

Tired, yes, and unamused, definitely, but not spiteful. He would find it stranger if she  _did_  sound angry, because that would point to irrationality and that, from what he'd so far gathered about Clarke, she hadn't survived as long as she had by being irrational. Her partner, perhaps, but not her.

"That ship is a backup plan," she said, "it'll hold a hundred people, tops."

"Then you won't mind if we take it." Roan was angry, of course. After all, it had been him and his people that had been lied to. But not unreasonable.

"Before you took him hostage, did Kane tell you about the nightblood solution?" Clarke asked, eyes open and honest. It simmered his anger, his frustration, if only a little.

"He tried. Sounds to me like you're making the next Commander. Also a violation of our deal." He watched her close her eyes in frustration, watched her take a breath.

"The flame is  _gone_  and you know it." Octavia had presented him with the broken pieces of it, before the plan had gone so terribly to shit.

"If Octavia's to be believed." Roan wasn't sure how much he believed  _anyone_  at this point.

"Roan this isn't some  _conspiracy_ , I'm doing my best to save everyon-"

"No you're not. You grieve for Lexa, yet you learned nothing from her. She was Trikru but she rose above loyalty to clan, you tell yourself you have too. The great  _wanheda_." He hadn't called her that in a while, and it looked like it stung. "The Commander of Death, who says she wants to save everyone. Yet defends her people, who built a ship for themselves."

"The nightblood solution will save everyone." 

"I don't believe in miracles." He was already stalking out, finding he expected her to follow. She stood where she was, raising her voice.

"It doesn't have to be like this." The exhaustion was wearing into her voice, and something about it made him swivel to look back at her, eyes heated.

"Yes it does!" Roan recovered quickly, "the way I see it you have two choices. Tell your shooters to stand down, give us your ship, and use whatever time we have left to find your nightblood solution. Or tell them to open fire." It was a gamble, honestly, because he still wasn't sure how Clarke reacted to some situations.

"We have more bullets than you have men. You'll lose."

"Maybe, but we'll both take loses. Kane and Bellamy among them." Roan saw something in her shift at that, but not something he expected. What  _did_  he expect, honestly? Indecision, maybe? A brief look of consideration at the least. No, she just looked fed up with him.

"You think that'll shake my resolve? I was ready to sacrifice my own mother to stop A.L.I.E."

"And I was willing to sacrifice mine to help you." He had, and he remembered the pit in his stomach caused by the fact that he  _hadn't_  felt anything, rather than because he  _had_. She paused, and he finally saw her debating. "Fight it is." Roan turned, walking back to the cave's mouth.

"Wait." He paused, didn't look back. "What if we share it?" He did at that, finding this was her last choice. If he denied, they'd both suffer casualties. Accept, they all live another day to try to figure out a better solution. As much as he hated being deceived, he found himself slumping on a rock, Clarke leaning against a natural-made column in front of him.

"Go on," he prompted, elbows on his knees. Clarke sighed, and Roan watched relief flash through her for the briefest of seconds before tension returned.

"Fifty slots a piece. Can your people live with that? I know they already want a war."

"I'm a king, Clarke, I don't have to ask my people what they want. The real question is how're you gonna sell this to your people? They won't be happy about losing half their seats on a lifeboat." He saw her warring with herself before leaning back, resolve in her eyes.

"We don't need to be happy. We need to survive."

"Skaikru will follow you when the time comes to close the door. Azgeda will see that it's done." They both stood and she extended a hand.

"Yeah, well let's hope it never comes to that." Roan pulled his knife out, cutting a clean line on his palm. " _We bind ourselves with blood_ ," he said, offering it to her.

" _We bind ourselves with blood._ " They shook, the turmoil evident on her face. He could see her already evaluating who, out of over four hundred people, would be allowed to live. He thought that, somewhere in him, he had expected this. Clarke seemed drawn to worrying about something at all times; but maybe that was just their lives.

Their alliance revolving around the ship, it seemed, would be short-lived. The ship caught fire, leaving them with only nightblood. They spotted the smoke from where they stood in the forest, with Bellamy, Echo, and a man named Riley. Roan watched the smoke rise in the air, then Bellamy as he put a hand on Clarke's shoulder to say  _I'm here, we need to go_.

She met his gaze and nodded, the two taking off before the others. Roan was first to react, Echo after him. Riley lagged behind, his gun on Bellamy's back, and Roan could easily assume why.

Roan found himself watching the pair ahead; the way they fell into step, perfectly synchronized, the way one of their hands unconsciously reached to comfort the other every now and then. The closer they got to the flames and panic, the more frequent it became. Bellamy's hand stayed on Clarke's back, her hand on his shoulder.

"Make quite the pair, don't they?" Roan wasn't sure why Echo made the comment, and almost chose not to dignify her with a response. He soon wished he hadn't.

"They do." It comes out gruff and cold. He knew she wouldn't say it, but he could tell she hoped this would dissuade him of siding with Clarke and the Skaikru. She always had been too involved in her own emotions, refusing to see the good that Skaikru could offer their people.

He still didn't miss the way Clarke pointed to a group of three in the crowd of evacuating people, one hand remaining on Bellamy's arm as she did. The second he spotted them, her extended hand went to his chest, patting in assurance that  _she's okay, it's okay_. Then they were both off, rushing towards her.

"O! O!" Roan could barely hear him above the shouts of other people, shifting his gaze back to the ship. Pieces of metal were falling down, though the fire did seem to be staying mostly on the ship itself which was a great reassurance. The last thing they needed was to be escaping a wildfire as well.

Bellamy carried his sister further away, and Clarke led the post-trader girl he'd met that first night he'd found Clarke. Nilah, Clarke had called her. Parts of the ship began exploding, dragging his eyes to the flames again. He knew they were far enough away to be out of range of any flying metal, which was about the only good thing left in the situation.

Roan watched as Clarke snapped back into leader-mode, pointing people where to go and organizing parties of whoever was healthy enough to go search for more wounded. Bellamy rose with her, his sister still in his arms. Roan couldn't hear, but he assumed Clarke told him to just look after her.

Most people fled to the forest for sleep, trying to get away from the fire but close enough to their camp to remain comfortable. Echo stayed close to Roan, who stayed relatively near Bellamy and Octavia and Nilah. Roan didn't  _mean_  to pry into Clarke's life, he just didn't know or trust anyone from her camp so staying by her seemed like the obvious choice, and being nearby meant seeing her.

He watched as Bellamy hovered by Octavia, helping her sip on water and rolling her onto her side when she started coughing in case she vomited. Clarke didn't seem overly concerned about her, which was a relief for Bellamy, her being a doctor and everything, or Nilah. She didn't actually spend a lot of time in the area they'd camped out in, instead walking in a giant circle to check on anyone who needed medical attention.

Roan could practically  _feel_  Echo suppressing a comment to him when Clarke finally did come back, kneeling by Nilah and holding her hand. Roan realized, abruptly, that he'd had Clarke and Bellamy's relationship pegged wrong all along. It was jarring, readjusting his mindset from Bellamy the partner to Bellamy the friend and then moreso from Nilah the post-trade one-night stand to Nilah the girl Clarke very well could have real, tangible feelings for.

"Who knows, maybe men aren't even on the radar." Echo finally said, settling against a tree for sleep. Roan suppressed the urge to roll his eyes at her; he wasn't sure how many times he'd have to mentally correct that Clarke was an indispensable ally and nothing beyond. She made the Skaikru listen to her, which was more than he could say about anyone but their Chancellor Kane, who, coincidentally, also tended to take Clarke's view on things.

The ship burned on through the night, dying in the early morning. Being made of metal meant having little to no real fuel to feed it, and it was miraculous that it managed to stay contained. It was too hot to enter until past-midday, and most people wanted to stay away from it so it remained mostly empty.

It was decided that nightblood was their last option after all. The discussion was tense, and it didn't help that Bellamy seemed to harbor a grudge against Roan, and honestly he couldn't blame the man for that, and made a few snide jabs.

"I'm taking my army back to Polis to keep the peace. Half of them deserted on the way, can't say I blame them wanting to be home with the end coming."

"Can you blame them for burning Trikru villages as they go?"

"That's funny coming from you." It was, in a way. Roan knew that Bellamy had been responsible for burning down homes and killing families before, though the fact seemed to be irrelevant when it served him to be so. Hypocritical anger.

Kane was the one to reprimand Bellamy, then, turning to Roan, "I can't spare many of our men to protect you."

"That's fine, my private security will protect us. We are all in this together now." Roan said it in an even tone, a reminder rather than a jab. He made it his cue to leave. 

Clarke found him before they were due to leave, bringing them to the car they'd be using. Echo remained silent, likely due to the other men in the back of the car, and Roan was glad for the reprieve. A few hours into the trip, the car braked, coming to a stop.

He heard Bellamy yell something, "Hey, kid, move!" and barely had time to see the face of a young child. One of his men stood, drawing a blade. Roan put an arm out to stop him, the child already screaming, "Azgeda!" The cars peeled away, sending them all lurching where they sat. People gathered behind the open back of the vehicle, sending a few arrows at them. They were out of range before long, for which Roan is thankful.

They didn't stop driving until they reached a river, too wide and deep for them to cross. Roan offered to go in search of a place to cross and Bellamy insisted on going with him, and Roan can tell the man doesn't trust him for jack squat. It took about ten minutes of driving, but they finally found a good place, shallow and covered in rocks.

"Clarke, this is Bellamy. We found a good place to cross, over." He waited a beat, then tried again, "cargo one do you read me, over? Clarke, come in!" The desperation and panic that ebbed into Bellamy's voice was what made Roan finally look at him, worry settling in him as well.

"Something's wrong." They climbed back in the car, rocks flying under the wheels as Bellamy slammed the pedal. It only took three minutes to get back. They hopped out, Bellamy with his gun ready and Roan with his blades.

"Clarke, come in." Bellamy tried again, looking around frantically.

"Over here!" Roan called, wading into the shallow edge of water. There's a large sack, obviously holding a body. He could feel his heart beating in his hands as he pulled it to the shore, Bellamy grabbing the other end. Roan waited as Bellamy steadied his hands, yanking the top of the fabric away. Roan wasn't sure how to feel about the slight relieve he felt from seeing one of his own men. He settled on, if Clarke dies the alliance surely goes with her, and any chance of saving his people.

"We both know who did this. Trikru." Roan spat, standing upright.

"Where's everyone else?" Bellamy asked, looking around for a sign of the rover.

"They took the truck to go to Polis, that means one of your is still alive." Bellamy met his gaze, and Roan was sure they're both wearing the same look of hopeful relief. They're back in the vehicle by their next breath, and if Bellamy's driving had been reckless before it got downright  _insane_. Roan couldn't bring himself to mind.

Every smallest bump in the earth made them lurch in the car, and Roan was positive he felt the wheels leave the ground more than a few times. They're dashing out of the woods and up a hill before he knows it, the car further ahead of them in the field.

"There they are!" It's more an assurance to himself that the car is really there, and Bellamy pushes the pedal harder with a quick, "hang on!" Roan watched the car slow down for the briefest second, but it's just what they need to catch up before someone slams the accelerator again. They watched the man in the back grab one of the barrels, trying to wiggle it to the edge.

"What's he doing?" Roan  _knows_  what he's doing but seriously  _what the fuck is he doing_?

"Weaponizing the fuel." Bellamy's answer was short, too focused on driving.

"You said we need every drop-"

"We do!"

"So get me as close as you can!" Roan turned, pushing his body through the window in the back of the seats. He looked at the roof of the car and pushed open a hatch on the top, jumping up and lifting himself through it. Bellamy was parallel with the other car and he heard a muffled, "now, do it," from the man.

Roan jumped and, honestly, he thought his heart stopped for the briefest second. The second was over by the time his feet touch the back of the truck, his man pinning him on top of the barrels. He felt his knife fly out of his hand which, really, not a problem at all except for the fact that it was absolutely a problem.

He got a good elbow to his man's nose, then punched at his throat. Then he's up, rooted to the swaying car like a tree. The guard hit him in the chest, using the pain to toss him onto the bed of the truck. He pulled out his knife, meaning to plunge it into Roan's chest. Roan used his feet to keep the man at bay, kicking him back. He was up as the man recovered.

They were at each others' throats, a knife being held to Roan's. Roan swiveled them, the man now facing the back end of the truck, and plunged his fingers deep into his eyes. He could feel the warmth of eye liquids and blood, pinching in and using it to pull his head forward.

" _Traitor_ ," is all Roan uttered, plunging the knife into his chest before kicking him off. Roan grabbed the barrel that had almost become a bomb, pulling it away from the edge. He barely had time to hold on a moment later when the truck came to a screeching halt, a trail of mud from uprooted grass left behind them.

Clarke got out of the car, rushing over to Bellamy who wrapped her in an embrace. Roan hopped off the back of the truck, a playful smirk on his face.

"What, no gratitude for-" Roan's tease is cut off be Clarke's body, which he hadn't honestly been expecting. He had time for a small pat on her back, not used to such physicality, before she pulled away, a grateful smile on her face.

They barely had a second to breathe, they needed to transport the fuel and had taken a long-enough detour. Bellamy hopped in the truck, telling Clarke to get the rover. Between the two, Roan really only had one choice.

The silence was nice for the first minute, soon turning tense and awkward with no real indication of how or why. The sun had set when Clarke finally spoke.

"You're a good king, Roan." He looked at her, trying to figure out if she was just trying to make him feel better or if she meant it. He settled on the former, mostly.

"Yeah, a good king who runs errands while his people are at war in Polis." He looked back out the window, trying to avoid her eyes. They'd tell him more than he cared to know, at that moment.

"This errand is the most important thing, you know that." It made him grin- not a smile, more of a grimace if he's being honest.

"And if we do save everyone? Then what?" He chanced another look at her and she looked back to the road, glancing between it and him. "What happens after you've turned us all into nightbloods? Do we just keep on killing each other?" He knew his people would likely never give up their hatred of Skaikru, and many of the latter felt the same about grounders. He'd heard the grumbling the night the ship was lit on fire, heard the way people spoke of him and his men.

He can tell she wants to answer him, she's just figuring out what to say. It doesn't put him at ease, the way she needed to grapple for an answer. She's fortunate to not have to, because Bellamy's voice comes over the radio alerting them that they'd arrived.

Clarke pulled up to a stop behind Bellamy's car and Roan gives a quick, "I'll unload with you." Clarke made her way over to Bellamy which didn't give Roan much pause. He'll likely always be an outsider to them, he understands. He was inspecting the barrels when he spotted it.

"We've got a problem," he hollered to them. He dragged a blue barrel to the edge while they walked over, twisting it for them to see. An arrow, an empty barrel. Roan kicked it off the edge in frustration, the lid falling off to show what they all knew; hollow inside.

From there, Bellamy announced he'd take the rover back to Arcadia and told Clarke to go deliver the rest of the fuel to Raven at the lab. He was in the car before Clarke could respond, peeling away as she sighed.

"May we meet again," she mumbled under her breath, watching him go for a second. Roan eyes her, sees the way her shoulders square.

"We should go." His words seemed to shake her back to the present, and she nodded and hopped in the truck.

"I get how things look," Clarke said after a few minutes, and he looked to her. She looked exhausted.

"Do you?" Roan knew she  _thought_  she did, but couldn't really tell how far she could see.

"I think I do. You've put your neck on the line for your people, you're keeping them in the dark about this for their own good, and you don't even know for certain if it'll work. But, really, it's the only option left that we can see. So you have to hang onto it, because there's even a  _slight_  chance that it might save them. 'M I close?" He smiled dryly, recalling the slim bits he knew about her past.

"Sounds like you speak from experience." She gave him a grin just as humorless that matched his.

"A bit." There was silence for a bit, more comfortable than their first time driving together. "How much do you know? About all of us, I guess."

"Not much. You dropped from the sky, started a war, then an alliance. Then you made a deal with Lexa which she went back on."

"Now who's speaking from experience," she snorted, then let him continue. His grin was a little less lifeless at that.

"The rest of your people landed, inadvertently messing a lot up for you. I guess you have the ice nation to thank for some of that." Roan mumbled the last bit, and she looked at him.

"I don't put the blame on anyone for that. Your people saw a ship land in their territory and attacked invaders. My people came to earth and were attacked, but they took vengeance too far." Clarke kept her tone soft, soothing almost. She seemed used to having to comfort others, used to pushing her own needs aside.

"You are softer than most. Or maybe wiser." Roan thought it was maybe both. Too much compassion and too much wisdom were a dreadful mix, knowing what needed to be done but having the morality to regret choices made for greater good.

"Maybe." That seemed as far as she was willing to go, talking about her personal life, which suited him just fine because the less he knew the better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is where things really change from the show, so look forward to that tomorrow!  
> This one was a bit longer, so let me know what you thought :-)
> 
> Is this pretty much how you imagined Roan thinking during these scenes? I know some things have been tweaked throughout, but I've mostly just been inserting my ideas on his thought processes during things he's actually done so that I can get used to writing from his POV!!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to start off by saying that I am SO sorry! This is way later than I thought I'd be able to get it uploaded, and I just spent a ton of time rewriting the entire second half of the story! I didn't even get to finish, just make a giant outline.  
> Long story short, I'm gonna be taking more precautions when it comes to my unpublished works so it doesn't all get deleted.

When they got to the lab, Clarke told Murphy about the barrel with a sullen look. Clarke goes to talk to her mother, and Roan takes to wandering the lab. He would be lying if he said he wasn't intrigued by the building. Roan made a mental map of the layout as he wandered, knowing he wouldn't be missed until later anyway.

Clarke managed to find him eventually and said that they'd be heading to the other building, Becca's mansion she'd lived in while working on the A.L.I.E. and nightblood research. The silence to the house could almost be called pleasant. He spent a couple hours wandering this building as well, enjoying the time alone.

Roan found it different than solitude before- well, before he'd met Clarke. He'd been in exile for years, tracking criminals down for their heads. Because he was constantly on the move, he'd grown used to being alone. Ever since he decided to go after the famous  _wanheda_  he had hardly had a moment to himself.

They'd come a long way from the day they'd tried drowning each other; the thought brought a soft chuckle to his lips.

A scream echoing through the halls stopped whatever reminiscing he'd been about to delve into as he took off in a quick jog.

It was Emori, Murphy's partner. By the time Roan arrived, intruder had been apprehended and was beat nearly half to death, he assumed by Emori. The girl was looking at Clarke, mouth parted slightly.

"What if his death could save us all?" It was the end of the conversation, Roan could tell.

Murphy took the man to the lab which, looking at the intruder, wouldn't be a difficult task solo. Clarke tells Emori to go get some rest, leaving the two of them alone in the kitchen. Roan looked at her, took in the way she leaned on the counter and the brightness of her skin- he could tell she'd showered recently, hair still damp- and it didn't seem like a bad idea to bathe while he could.

Roan looked at her eyes and saw she was staring at him, too, just soaking in his general appearance. The idea made him stand a little straighter, almost uncomfortable while also not. He couldn't tell what she was thinking, which was admittedly a little unnerving because she was just looking at his- his what? His shirt?

He thought of the bullet he'd taken, the quick removal surgery she and her mother had done to keep him alive. It wasn't visible through the shirt he wore, but he knew she was picturing it just underneath the fabric. He glanced back up at her face and saw her eyes were on his.

"Have you been letting it heal properly?"  _Ah_ , he realized. This was doctor-Clarke, something he'd rarely gotten to see even during the fire's aftermath because she'd been making rounds.

"I know how to take care of injuries." He remarked, wondering how weak those of Skaikru thought the human body was.

"Go get cleaned up, I'll take a look after." He chuckled, doing as she said. When he located a bathroom, he wondered why this hadn't been the  _first_  thing he'd done. It took some figuring out, but once he got it down it was smooth sailing. The hot water relaxed his muscles, the tension practically going down the drain.

He stood there for a second, then a minute, then five, ten. There wasn't really any active thoughts going through his mind as he cleaned, but somehow he started coming to conclusions about things.

The first being that he was, most certainly, too close to Clarke for comfort.

The second was that while he was too close for comfort, being any further would make him twice as uncomfortable.

The third was maybe he was 'too close for comfort' because he was stubborn, and that thought was probably the least comfortable thought of them all, because really being around Clarke was pleasant whenever they weren't at odds because of the lives of their people.

By the time he stepped out to dry off, he came to one final conclusion: taking a shower was probably not the best idea.

Roan was about to put his clothes back on when there was a knock at the door. It was light, almost hesitant. He heard Clarke's voice through the door, saying she had a spare change of clothes that didn't smell like he'd been wearing it for several days straight. He cracked the door open, taking the clothes with a small half-grin. She nodded, leaning against the wall to wait.

He tossed the pants on, not bothering with the shirt since she'd make him lift it or ditch it to examine the wound anyway. He opened the door, still toweling his damp hair.

"We can sit down if you'd prefer?" She offered, motioning around the room. The bathroom he'd used was in one of the empty bedrooms, the actual room empty save for the bed and a desk and chair. He opted for the chair.

She examined it, giving the area light touches to feel the skin. He watched her face, the way her brows creased as she worked, how light and precise each of her movements was. She wore a mask of professionalism, one that reminded him of her mother. She was kneeling at his side, just staring at the scarring. It didn't feel like anything more than a healer and patient until she was finished, glancing up at his face.

She didn't say anything so Roan didn't either. The seconds ticked by, neither of them wanting to be the first person to act. Eventually he did, tracing her jaw lightly with a finger. He brushed a lock of hair behind her ear. When Roan's hand receded, it was like someone pushed 'play' on Clarke's mind.

She stood, smiling awkwardly and clearing her throat.

"We should head to the lab." He nodded, grabbing a shirt. A post-shower conclusion: whatever was happening with Clarke, he'd try not to fight it too much since, really, only  _one_  of them needed to be that in-denial.

That night, it was decided that the man was going to be radiated. Emori said that his name was Baylis, that he'd wronged her and her entire family. Roan stayed out of the way, leaning against a wall as the man was put in the glass chamber. He made it through quite a bit before his skin began to blister, blood pouring out of his mouth, his eyes, his nose.

Roan remained rooted to his spot, letting the Skaikru look at their screens. It was beginning to feel hopeless, if he was being honest, but the truth of the matter was that this was likely the only chance for his people.

Then, of course, they needed another test.

"So, what, we just go out there and hunt for someone else?" Murphy said, voice flat.

"No one's going anywhere in this storm." Miller countered, leaning against the wall next to Roan.

"So we wait for it to pass." Murphy's voice rose a little, not to a yell just louder.

"When it does there may not be anyone left to hunt for." Roan was careful to keep his tone neutral.

"Hunting for someone else to kill. What's the matter with you people?" Roan had tried to avoid Luna's presence as much as he could, the woman a reminder of another Skaikru betrayal. They had brought her from hiding, and he wasn't much welcome to the thought of a nightblood at first; thought they wanted to use her to take power.

"Even Baylis honored the dead, he wore the stones of his Floukrine ancestors." Luna displayed the band of stones, and Roan realized a second before Clarke spoke up.

"Wait, Baylis was Sengedakru," she started, about to continue before Emori spoke up.

"He was. He was also a  _thief_ , he probably stole those stones."

"A thief who didn't bear the mark of Sengedakru." Roan stated, feeling the room grow terser. It was silent for a moment, no one wanting to speak up, until Clarke did.

"That wasn't Baylis." It wasn't a question, it was a statement.

"Come on, Clarke, that's crazy. What did-"

"Who did we just kill?" Clarke cut Murphy off, betrayal evident in her voice. Roan couldn't say he wasn't surprised. Fear festered in Emori's eyes before she dashed for the exit, Roan cutting her off easily and grabbing her, knife to her throat.

"John take out the machine!" Emori yelled, and when he moved Miller held a gun to his head.

As if Emori's lies weren't enough for the day, Luna refused to give more bone marrow. All it took to convince her was Roan rendering her unconscious.

Roan remained quiet as the hours ticked by, knowing that while he could forcefully subdue Luna it was harder to force Abby to extract bone marrow from an unwilling patient. He eyed Clarke carefully, knowing what she was probably thinking about.

Mount Weather had taken the bone marrow from her friends, had drilled into them, into her mother. Now  _they_ were the ones strapping a girl down to the table to take it.

They do, eventually, and Murphy was taken into another room, locked to a railing. They could hear his screams through the door. Abby stood at Emori's side, nightblood ready to be injected. Roan watched her hands shake, a tremble at first and then threateningly hard. Clarke approached, putting a hand over her mother's.

"I can't," was all Abby said, meeting Clarke's eyes.

"I will, it's okay," she assured, gently taking the syringe. Her mother nodded, and he wondered how many moral sacrifices she'd had to make already. From what he knew, she never stopped being the scapegoat for her people.

Clarke steadied her own hands, eyes roaming over Emori's unconscious form. She looked at her face, then her arm, back and forth. Roan saw something shift, resolve firmer than before. He saw her lips move, a barely audible, "I bear it so they don't have to," and she stabbed herself in the arm.

"Clarke," Miller said, his words making Abby turn around. She gave a few weak protests, the life drained from her voice.

"We're testing me." Clarke's voice wasn't much louder as she finally locked eyes with her mother. Roan wasn't sure what he felt; pride, maybe, for the way she was always willing to put her people before herself. He felt something deep within, a nagging twinge of worry, of disappointment that, yes, she could very well die.

Even the Commander of Death had to give in eventually, could only twist fate's arm so much.

But Abby, it seemed, was the one who would control Clarke's fate that day. Two hours later when the blood settled, Clarke said she was ready. Abby grabbed a metal rod, used to hold something Roan wasn't sure of, and slammed it onto the glass chamber. They screamed at her to stop, but it was too late. Another wave of hopelessness settled through him.

"Don't worry, it'll all be over soon." When Luna turned to leave the lab this time, Roan didn't stop her.

Clarke crouched by her mother, letting her cry into Clarke's chest. He watched her comfort the woman, wondering again how often she had to do this. But then, when you lead you have to be the strong one, you don't get to mourn or panic or want anything but what's best for your people.

They decide that, from there, the best move is to go back to Polis. Roan travels with Clarke, seeing as she's the only person he thinks he nearly trusts and-

He isn't entirely certain why she prefers his company. He doubts she want's to be in an enclosed space with either Emori or Murphy- both had chosen to stay behind anyway- or alone with her mother. With Miller and Jackson up front, he, Clarke, and Abby are left in the back. It's a tense ride, what with Abby's grim face and Clarke barely managing to keep from lashing out.

He could almost feel the wave of relief that washed over Clarke when her mother fell asleep. She slumped backwards, shoulder a hair's breadth away from his own. Something he noticed about Clarke is that she only pushed boundaries she knew she was allowed to, and keeping that minimal distance kept her from touching the boundary between them.

Roan thought back to the night of the fire, how she hadn't minded, had gone out of her way even, to keep a hand on Bellamy. He didn't fully understand the nature of their relationship, since he thought it obvious that they relied on each other for most things. Codependent, almost.

Maybe not, though, as he'd seen Clarke was more than capable of leading on her own. Look what had happened when she wasn't around and Pike was, how Bellamy had acted. Clarke may have acted as some of Bellamy's self-control, though Clarke herself relied on him for- what, support?

The realization that he'd spent so much thought on this made a chuckle rise to his lips, unannounced and almost unwelcome.

"Something funny happen lately?" Clarke's tone is dry, though he thinks that's just the emotional exhaustion of recent events.

"You and Bellamy are well suited," he can feel her tense beside him, hands gripping her knees.

"We aren't like that." Something in it lets him know that she doesn't want to answer anything else. The silence ticks by, more strained than what he'd grown accustomed to. Roan doubts she'll continue, but eventually she does.

"We used to hate each other, you know. When we first arrived, he was selfish and terrible, he put himself and his sister above everything, every _one_  else. But then... I don't know. I guess he had something that made him realize that he'd taken charge of a bunch of kids. He started trying to right by them, protect them.

"Somewhere along the way, I guess- I don't know. I don't know. We just ended up in charge of them all, and then everyone else came down and things got so  _complicated_  because none of them could wrap their minds around the fact that we were actually  _starting something good_." She heaved a sigh, tension leaving with it. He was quiet for a while, wondering if this was really smart. No, he decided, it wasn't. He continued, regardless.

"Leading your people is never an easy job, Clarke. I don't have to tell you about the sacrifices we have to make." She chanced a look at him, and he saw something he couldn't quite decipher in the look. "My mother didn't understand sacrifice. She understood pawns, violence, ruthlessness, fear." She looked back to the opposite wall but he could tell she was interested.

"She never wanted to join the coalition, believed that Lexa was just trying to unite the clans so she could extend her power. She saw only what she wanted to see, so she saw peace as a power play, saw our people's fear as an accomplishment." Conversation lulled after that, but it was back to the comfortable silence they'd grown used to.

Roan let himself relax, feeling the sway of the car on the worn paths of the woods. He blinked, and when his eyes opened it was nightfall, only fifteen minutes or so away from Polis. He hears Clarke laugh, small and barely there but just loud enough for him to notice. He turns to her, her hand over her mouth, and raises a brow.

"Something funny happen lately?" He mirrors her words from earlier, earning him another grin. He glanced to her mother, still laying down and breathing evenly.

"You talk in your sleep." He frowned at that, fairly certain he did  _not_  do that. "Okay, maybe not  _talk_ , that's a strong word. More like mumble." She looked at him and, even in the dark, he could see the clear amusement in her eyes. He caved, letting a small smirk slip onto his face.

"Care to indulge?" Roan had to admit, he wanted to know what he'd said. Especially if it caused her such amusement.

"Something about fire safety? You were just talking about how to know which wood was best to burn, how to best cover your trail after a fire. Very informative stuff." Clarke grinned, and Roan rolled his eyes.

"I'm glad you learned something, at least," he huffed, a corner of his mouth still turned up. Abby sat up, rolling her neck. The remainder of the ride was spent in silence, up until the car lulled to a stop in the woods.

"Clarke, can I talk to you for a second?" Abby asked as Roan hopped to the ground.

"I'll catch up," Clarke assured him, and he eyed the two before turning around.

Roan walked with Miller and Jackson, spotting Kane standing alone. He approached carefully, looking around for his men. Kane met him halfway, telling the other two men to wait a few meters back.

"Where are the guards?" Roan asked, and Kane gave a tight smile.

"Our people aren't back from Arcadia yet." Kane replied, and branches snapped behind them.

"Kane, don't. Roan!" Clarke yelled, her mother trying to stop her. Roan pulled a blade out, looking back at Kane in time to see Trikru men emerge from the trees.

"There doesn't have to be any violence-" Kane tried, but Azgeda archers shot the Trikru man approaching Roan. More Azgeda came out, outnumbering and overpowering both the Trikru men and those of Skaikru. Echo appeared near Roan, the two locking eyes.

"Welcome back to Polis, my king," she said, clearly unsurprised by the betrayal. He looked at Clarke, bound and gagged by one of his men with her mother. He turned around, telling his men to bring them all back to the tower.

Echo and two of his guards followed him into a safe room in the tower, and he demanded an explanation from her.

" _Cage the prisoners_." Echo told the guards.

" _Bring wanheda to me_." Echo looked at him, confused and distrustful. "I said to explain."

"Skaikru allied with Trikru to take the temple. They gave up the tower to do it. Strategically, that made no sense so I put our people at the temple doors. Good thing I did." Some of her usual haughtiness was gone, replaced with relief.

"You did well, Echo." The guards opened the door, shoving Clarke into the room. "Move the rest of our army to the temple doors, no one gets in or out," he told Echo, dismissing her and the guards. She left reluctantly, eyeing Clarke with unhidden suspicion and disdain.

When they were alone, he took the fabric out of Clarke's mouth.

"How long have you know?" Roan hoped the betrayal didn't transfer over to his tone, but even he could hear it clearly. He had put faith in her, in her people, and had almost been killed for it.

"I just found out," she eyed the blade he took out with an emotion he couldn't quite name. It was a mix of confusion and- what? Not fear, he could tell that much.

"Thanks for trying to warn me," he murmured, cutting the thick ropes on her wrists.

"This doesn't have to be a war," Roan turned away from her, expecting the words.

"Your people betrayed me, Clarke. What would you have me do?"

"Live? The radiation's gonna be here in  _six days_ , you were willing to share the ship with us, why not Trikru?" The problem with Clarke is that she always wanted a peaceful solution, and while he didn't want his men to die that wasn't the Azgeda way, wasn't the Trikru way.

"I suppose Kane tried to get Indra to agree to that before letting them try to assassinate me."

"Believe it or not, Kane was trying to save your life." He turned to face her again, frustration getting the better of him.

"Mine maybe, not my people's." He would've expected Clarke of all people to understand. His  _people_ came first, not himself.

"That was before you surrounded the temple, no one in or out unless  _you_  allow it. Indra won't have a choice but to agree to talk." He looked at Clarke's face, saw how earnest her eyes were. He wasn't sure why he kept making that mistake, really.

"Fine, we'll talk. But I'm holding your people."

"My Chancellor needs to be at that meeting, Roan." He walked towards her, his words coming out before he thought them through.

"Your Chancellor is lucky to have his head. Besides, if anyone can convince mortal enemies to move in together, it's you." It was a wake-up call to him if he'd ever had one; he couldn't quite put a time or place on when he'd put so much faith in her. "I'll call for the summit."

When it was time, he brought Clarke to the temple for the meeting. He warned a Trikru man that his army would attack if anything were to go wrong, getting a growled, "nothing would make my people happier," in response. He approached Clarke just in time to find her talking to a flamekeeper.

"You gave the flame to an unworthy king who saw it destroyed. I am not as grateful." The words weren't a surprise to him, he knew all flamekeepers probably felt the same about him.

"Let's see what all the fuss is about." He walked past the flamekeeper, Clarke following close beside. "After you,  _wanheda_ ," he motioned to the stairs, ignoring the sigh he got in response. They made it through the control room, coming out into a lobby-like area.

On the floor, he spotted Indra and her war chiefs, informing Clarke of who they were.

"She was supposed to be alone," Clarke told him, and he shot a dry look at her.

"What fun would that be?" He said sarcastically, Indra's words getting their attention.

"You murdered our people, burned our villages, yet still have the nerve to come here in the name of peace?" Her tone was venomous.

"Not peace. Survival." Indra stepped away from him, getting him to raise his voice. "You tried to take this bunker for yourself yet here I am, willing to talk."

"The Trikru alliance holds the temple, of course you're willing to talk."

"And the Azgeda alliance surrounds it, and the only way your people get inside is if we come to an agreement."

"This was is inevitable. The only reason it hasn't happened before now is because Lexa commanded it." Clarke stepped in at that, trying to keep a semblance of peace.

"The only thing that's inevitable is  _praimfaya_. Anyone not in this bunker will be dead-"

"Then we should get to it!" One of the war chiefs supplied, and Clarke shot Roan a pleading look.

"We talked. Now we fight." Clarke put a hand on his arm, stepping between he and Indra.

"No, there is room for 1,200 people. We can share it, equally.  _All_  of the clans can survive! That's what Lexa would have wanted." Clarke said the last part looking into Indra's eyes.

"Yes, she would have. And if she were here, the clans might  _actually_  have obeyed her. But seeing as there's no Commander to rule us, war it is." Indra promised, and Roan and his mean left. Clarke lagged behind, probably to try to 'fix' things further. He went ahead, knowing he needed to ready his army.

He was with his war chiefs and Echo when they heard it; the horn that announced a new Commander. He knew there was only one nightblood left, and she would never have come to Polis to ascend. That left one alternative.

"How is this possible? The flame was destroyed, you said you saw it," he heard Echo say, somewhat distantly.

"It was shattered." He responded, moving to look out the window. The fire atop of the tower was proof of an ascension. He thought of it, in his hand, and the look on Octavia's face. "I saw what they wanted me to see."

"A new Commander is bad for us, Roan. But we control the tower. Let me stop this ascension." He looked at Echo, saw the fierce determination in her eyes. He thought of Clarke, her need to save her people-  _all_  people, she would have corrected him if she heard. "At least until we know who the  _natblida_  is."

"I know who it is." Roan's voice came out firmer, more even, than he'd anticipated. He looked at the fire again, the signal. He thought of his people, of Trikru, of Skaikru. Of Clarke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanna reiterate how sorry I am about this, hopefully it doesn't happen again! I'm gonna have to push back the time between chapters from daily to maybe every two or three days since I have a ton to rewrite now :-(


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new Commander rises, and a new era begins.

Every action she had taken since they became allies, she'd done it beside him. She'd saved his life, had risked her own to save  _both_  of their people. He left the room, Echo not but a step behind. They stalked across Polis, making their way up the tower just in time to see Clarke, knife in the flamekeeper's hand, about to slice her palm and say the pledge.

Clarke's eyes found his immediately, saw Echo behind him, begged him silently. Roan simply stood there, decision made. Echo made to step around him, to disturb the ceremony, but Roan but a hand out to stop her. He looked at Clarke, giving a small nod. She returned it, lips fighting a smile.

" _Through the dark, the flame lives on. The body passes but the Spirit is strong. The Spirit choose has chosen, let the new Commander ascend_." Clarke extended her hand, and Gaia slid the point across, clenching Clark's fist to drip blood on the flame. " _The blood of the Commanders is your blood. May the Spirit choose wisely_." Gaia dragged two fingers through the bloody ash below the flame, marking Clarke's forehead.

" _May the Spirit of the Commanders guide me_." Clarke turned and knelt, letting Gaia part her hair. No one heard what Gaia said to the flame, a sacred phrase known only to flamekeepers, but the flame awakened, entering Clarke's neck.

Clarke stood and faced the room of people, catching Roan's gaze again. He nodded, first to fall to a knee for her. The rest were quick to follow, Abby, then Indra, soon the room was bowing before her. Roan knew, somewhere within him, that Clarke was his strongest ally even when Echo was among the last to bow, showing her blatant distrust.

When the ceremony was finished, Roan was among the first to approach her, the others being her mother and Indra.

"Clarke, are you sure this is the best decision?" Her mother.

" _Wanheda_ , how are you a  _natblida_?" Indra.

"Clarke-" Kane. People were throwing words at her quicker than she could respond, so she settled on silence.

"Clarke." Roan spoke up, louder than the rest. She looked at him, fear in her eyes. He could've scoffed at that.

"Can Roan and I have a word? Alone, please." Abby was last to leave, casting several glances back at her daughter before the door was shut. Neither one of them seemed to want to speak up first, then both of them at the same time.

"Are you-"

"What are-"

"Sorry, you go first." Clarke said, dropping her gaze to the floor.

"Why are you being so apprehensive?" It hadn't been what he meant to say, but it's what had come out so.

"I did go behind your back and ascend as Commander. You're angry." Clarke stated simply, as if that's all she had to worry about at the present moment.

"I was. Very angry." Her brows creased together at that. "What are your plans from here on?"

"I'm going to do what Lexa would've done. The coalition will stand, and the clans will live in the bunker, split evenly between all of us." Clarke answered, a firmness and resolve in her voice now. He offered her a small smirk, glad that if there had to be a Commander to avoid a war that it had to be Clarke.

"Alright, I hope you know what you've gotten yourself into. I do have one question though." She looks at him expectantly. "Should we call you  _wanheda_  or  _heda_?" The title comes out teasing, and she gives a small grin.

"Clarke would be nice." She said, mouth widening into a full smile.

"Well then, Clarke, let's not keep the people waiting." She nodded at that, walking out to ask the ambassadors to return.

It didn't go over well at first, but one of the ambassadors spoke up for Clarke. He spoke of Lexa's immense trust in her and their role as ambassadors to follow the Commander, to make the best choices for all of their people. He represented Yujleda, a man named Uzac.

The other ambassadors settled after that, all agreeing to choose their 100 survivors.

Roan sat in his quarters, hunched over a piece of paper. Only a couple days were left, he knew this needed to be done immediately. He'd heard Clarke send a group of people out to get Raven from Becca's lab, due to arrive back the following day. He wasn't sure how she kept her priorities so focused with people tugging her attention every which way every other minute.

By the time he had finished his hundred, he could feel his eyes twitching with need for rest. It was perhaps the least restful night he'd had since his first days of banishment, waking up every half hour in a cold sweat.

Needless to say, Roan had a long night.

When he saw Clarke the following morning, he saw she didn't look much better. She was talking to Jaha, the man whispering heatedly while she remained strictly neutral. It wasn't necessarily new to Roan, to see her mask of indifference, but it had certainly been a while.

Jaha saw Roan and turned, walking away angrily. Clarke heaved a sigh, looking over to Roan. She offered a small smile, the exhaustion keeping it from fully reaching her eyes. His look likely mirrored it.

"He isn't happy about 364 of our own being left out. 'You're the Commander' he said. Like it's that simple." Clarke sighed again, leaning against the wall.

"You've finished it, then?" Clarke nodded, her look turning to that of a grimace.

"Most of the clans have already started gathering their people," she said, glancing up at him as if to ask if he has too.

"I already have Echo on it." They returned to silence, letting each other think. They stayed that way for a while, seconds turning into minutes.

"Clarke!" Her head swiveled at the sound, a smile breaking over her face. Bellamy rushed up to her, arms encircling her, burying his nose in her neck. Roan stood passively, not wanting to interrupt the reunion.

"Bell," he heard her say, her chin on his shoulder, head angled towards his. Roan truly didn't understand their rapport. Bellamy put a hand in the crook of her neck, leaning back as if to look her over for injuries.

"We got the message last night. I, uh," Bellamy seemed to notice Roan, "I got everyone on the list." His voice was steadier, more stoic, at the end as he tried to stand straighter.

"Thank you," her words brought his eyes back to her. "Can I leave it to you to make sure everyone gets in okay? I want just our tech experts in there first, to start setting everything up. Get a small head-start on the agro and do basic check-ups." Bellamy nodded, sending Roan a final look that could only be called a warning before leaving.

"He does not like me." It wasn't a question, and Clarke frowned.

"He doesn't know you, yet. Besides, he doesn't like a lot of people," she shrugged, pulling his lips down into a frown.

"He likes you." Clarke is quiet for a second, thoughtful.

"It's different. He  _has_  to like me, our people rely on us. If he didn't, he'd be making his life a hell." Roan has to chuckle at that, Clarke's gaze shifting back up to his. "It doesn't matter that he doesn't trust you, I do." Roan is still at that, watching her walk down the hallway casually. He's only a beat behind, his strides long enough to make up for the gap.

He doesn't say anything, just follows her back to the embassy where a few other ambassadors are waiting. Uzac approaches her, bowing his head slightly before speaking.

" _Heda_ , most of the clans are ready with their people. We are waiting for your order to move in." Clarke nods at that, thinking.

"I have a few Skaikru already inside, working on some of the technology. As long as they are allowed to work, you can move in when you wish." Uzac nodded, spreading the message to the others. One after one they began to file out.

"I will leave, too." Roan announced, adding, "You should get some rest while you can. It will not be easy when  _praimfaya_  comes tomorrow." Clarke nodded at that, sitting in the  _heda's_  seat.

The hours passed both slow and quick, every step felt like an effort while he ended up places entirely too soon. He was in his people's section only four hours later, everyone being assigned a place to sleep by some of his personal guard. He slept in a separate area, a small room with a bed, desk, chair, and wardrobe. It was sparse but it gave him solitude which would be hard to find when they were all locked under the ground.

He wandered, getting a feel for the general layout of the bunker. It was massive and all halls looked the same to him. The only guide was the signs labeling the different halls, pointing in the direction of specific places- filtration systems, hydroponic farms, the different dorm-rooms, different community showers.

Clarke found him in one of the farming rooms.

"This is where we'll be growing our soy." She commented, coming to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him. Well, more shoulder-to-bicep. "This'll be the closest thing we feel to above-ground for five years." She looked sad, nostalgic but sad.

"None of my people will like this, especially at first. We lived our whole lives on the Arc, and after finally getting a taste of the ground we have to go under it."  _Oh_. Roan didn't know what to say to her, so he remained silent. He didn't think there was really anything he  _could_ say.

Jackson came up to her, the two discussing how much soy there'd be in the first harvest, how they could make it grow faster, how long it would all take. Roan watched her, saw the immediate shift from Just Clarke to Leader Clarke. He wondered where his shift was; where he was Just Roan and where he was King Roan.

As he watched Clarke and Jackson he decided that, even if he couldn't pinpoint anything else, when it was just Clarke and himself he could be Just Roan.

Raven arrived that night, Harper, Monty, Bellamy, and Miller with her. They were the last people to enter the bunker, barely making it in time. Clarke had been adamant about waiting to lock the bunker door, even with the wave of radiation coming. They'd jumped out of the car and thrown themselves down the stairs, just barely making it while it was still safe.

"Welcome to your home of the next five years," someone in the control room said to the group, voice dry.

"Gee, thanks." Raven rolled her eyes, limping out to find her way around.

"Thanks for not giving up, princess." Bellamy half-grinned to Clarke, wrapping his arms around her. Roan wondered how often he'd have to watch this, and the idea sent a twinge of something dark through him.

"Thanks for not dying out there." Clarke laughed, letting go. She went to Miller next, Harper, Monty. Jackson offered to get them settled in, which Clarke was visibly grateful for. Roan could tell she hadn't taken him up on getting rest while she could.

Roan put a hand on Clarke's shoulder, seeing she was about to turn and try to take on another job. She glanced up at him, confusion evident.

"Come with me," he said quietly, leading her out of the room. They walked in comfortable silence to his room. He would've walked her go to hers but he doubted she'd actually continue, finding some excuse to walk away to tackle something.

"What are we-"

"Sit." It was odd how she just  _did_ ,albeit somewhat reluctantly. Roan figured she was worse for wear than she led on.

"You've been wearing yourself to the bones. The bunker is closed now, no one is going anywhere." Clarke opened her mouth to argue, closing it quickly.

"It  _just_  closed, there'll be confusion. It's not exactly like we've already established a set schedule or plan or  _anything_." It was almost a good argument, the best she could really give under the circumstances.

"Do you not trust your Chancellor? The other ambassadors?" Clarke frowned, her answer clear. "Do you not trust me?" He saw her mouth open again, shoulders sagging.

"I do. I just-"

"Need to rest. Or do you want everyone to see their new  _heda_  collapse of fatigue?" Roan teased, the half-grin he got in return a reassurance that she'd listen. Clarke laid down, sighing deeply. Roan stayed in the room to make sure she'd actually listen, watching as the tension she held melted from her body. It only took a few minutes for her breathing to level out, though he couldn't say he was surprised. He put one of his furs over her as a blanket before leaving.

He spent the remainder of the night taking care of people's needs, telling ambassadors who asked that there'd be a meeting the next day. When it seemed that most people had settled in for bed, he headed back to his room. Clarke was still there, curled onto her side, one hand holding the fur like a lifeline.

She looked about as unhappy as a person can look when they're sleeping.

"Clarke," Roan murmured, shaking her arm gently as he sat on the edge of the bed. Her eyes snapped open, scanning the room with lethal precision. He held her wrist, light enough she could pull it free with ease, and felt her heart hammering under his fingertips.

"Clarke," Roan said again, voice low. She stared at him for over a minute, unblinking. He couldn't tell what she was thinking for certain, but he was sure she just needed a second a catch up with her surroundings.

"Roan?" It sounded a little broken and, really, Roan had not been ready for that. It yanked his heart uncomfortably, but he elected to ignore that. "Sorry, it's probably time for you to sleep. I'll head to my room." That part of his heart that had been tugged told him to offer to let her stay, but his brain overrode the idea with rationality because, yeah, that would be a terrible idea.

"Good night, Clarke." She nodded in return, slipping out of the room quietly. The emptiness of his room was suddenly suffocating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's 5! Let me know what you think :-)  
> Again I'm sorry about the delay in posting, but I've rewritten a fairly decent amount and should be able to release one chapter every other day until I manage to finish it all again


	6. Chapter 6

The following day they decide on a six-month schedule, deigned to slowly acclimate the twelve clans to being around each other. The six months, they would only have to interact with one, some two other clans on a daily basis. The Yujleda, Louwoda Kilronakru, and Trikru were close already, so it was easily decided they would dine together.

Then Boudalanakru and Trishanakru. Delfikru and Podakru. Ouskejonakru and Ingranronakru. Last to eat was Sangedakru, Skaikru, and Azgeda. Showers were open at all times, though to conserve water it was decided that they would be limited on a personal basis.

No one was to get the food grown in the hydroponic farms since what little that did grow would need to be examined and altered to increase crop quantity and growth speed. The bunker had a number of activities on the various levels. The cult leaders that had established it had thought that those worthy of Level 12 deserved to wait out the apocalypse in lavish comfort, so they installed gym equipment, art rooms, even nurseries- it was voted that the nurseries were to be used as a child-care space for the younger kids that had been brought in.

Clarke was the only one of the thirteen of them who had ever lived like this before, so they respected her input on what was a good idea and what wasn't. It was clear that she had to work harder for their respect, but Roan thought she was doing a decent enough job. As their Commander, they had to show her respect but that was different than actually earning it.

He knew she would.

After a couple weeks, they had settled into a decent schedule themselves. Clarke would spend the mornings with her friends, Roan with his Second, Edmon. She spent afternoons in the med-bay, he in one of the smaller gyms. They met for late lunch often with Edmon and Lisa, a girl from the original 100 sent to earth.

Roan had never seen Clarke interact with the girl, but she seemed to be interested in medicine so they'd been seeing each other rather frequently. Lisa spent much of the meal watching other people, not offering much to whatever conversation was happening- not that there was usually much to talk about.

Roan spent the evenings either attending meetings with ambassadors or reading, both activities typically involving Clarke. On quiet nights when neither of them had anything left to do, they'd go to one of the smaller libraries- a study, really, since there was only a couple book cases and a few chairs. Roan would read whatever was available, Clarke across the room on another chair sketching.

It was about a month and a half before he asked.

"What do you draw?" She looked up, startled. Then, sheepishly, she laughed lightly.

"The ground. People. Things." Clarke responded vaguely, and Roan lifted a brow.

"That isn't inconspicuous at all," he half-grinned at her, letting her know it was okay if she joked back and they drop it.

"You can see." Roan stood, kneeling by Clarke's chair. She handed him the journal and he stared at it quizzically. "It's the dropship, where the hundred of us first landed. And that's the butterfly forest. That's the river, the first water we found." Clarke continued, telling him little tidbits about each location.

He turned the pages and she told him about the people on some pages, most of them people he hadn't met. It was jumbled and messy, but she told him about each page wistfully. He got to a sketch of a boy and heard her take a shaky breath. There were splotches and smudges; tears.

"That's Wells. He was my best friend." Roan glanced over to her; she was smiling softly and looked like she wanted to cry. "His dad was Jaha, the ex-Chancellor. A, um- When we got here, there was a little girl, Charlotte. She was twelve. She stabbed him in the throat. No one thought she could've- I mean she was just a  _kid_."

Roan could tell this wasn't something she'd ever actually said. She told him about Murphy, how they'd tried to hang him, how she told everyone, how Bellamy still tried to protect her. How she jumped off a cliff. Then she told him about her mom, how she'd essentially killed Jake Griffin.

The animosity between them made a lot more sense.

"My mother had my father killed for treason." Roan said after she was finished. He hadn't expected to say it, the words just slipped out before he had a chance to think it through. He could feel Clarke's eyes on him but kept his trained on a small painting on the wall. He knew if he looked at her he probably wouldn't stop talking.

"She had found out that officials in a small village were plotting against her and ordered that the village be burned. My father tried to save the innocents, the kids. She found out. He was given a traitor's death in Azgeda. Each person he wronged was to get one small blade and put it in him.

"Since she couldn't get the entirety of Azgeda to gather, she settled for our capital, Sagueney. She made me and my brothers and sisters watch, wait until the end before her. Over three thousand people gathered that day. Over two hundred got a turn before he died." Roan had remembered watching, wondering if there'd be any flesh left if his father managed to survive.

They slipped into silence after that. Roan felt a tug on his hand, looking up to see she'd made room in the large chair. He rose, settling in next to her. He couldn't tell how much time passed, but the motion sensor in the room went off. He could feel Clarke next to him, her knees drawn up to her chest as she leaned against him.

He wasn't sure what time it was by the time they both fell asleep.

Neither of them brought it up that morning, not out of avoidance but because it just wasn't necessary. He continued on his day, and she hers.

One difference was that when Bellamy talked to her, leaning over to whisper in her ear and shooting a look at Roan, Roan felt distinctly annoyed. Clarke huffed at whatever he'd said, displeased. Bellamy glowered at Roan one last time before turning away, heading down the hall with Clarke.

The days continued like that until they were on their second month in the bunker. Everyone seemed settled, thankfully. Everyone except Bellamy, apparently. Or maybe it was just Bellamy being Bellamy.

Roan decided on the latter when the man approached him before their lunch.

"Roan," he started, as if Roan hadn't seen him coming.

"Bellamy," he replied, trying not to sound like this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Bellamy told him to follow and Roan obliged, the two winding down halls until they were fully alone.

"What the hell are you doing?" Bellamy demanded, arms crossed.

"Well, first I was heading to our daily meal when-"

"Don't try that. What are you doing with Clarke?" Roan figured that, yeah, he probably should've seen this coming at some point. Bellamy was overprotective to a fault, if the stories he'd heard and things he'd seen were anything to go by.

"Nothing." It comes out gruffer than intended, and Bellamy narrows his eyes.

"You expect me to buy that? Listen, I don't know what shit you think you're doing, but-"

"But if I touch one hair on her head you'll gut me, is that it?" Roan interrupts, causing Bellamy to snap his lips together. "I don't know what kind of past you two have, frankly I don't care, but I think Clarke can make her own decisions." Roan made to leave, but a firm hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"She's been through enough." Maybe it's the simple truth of the statement. Maybe it's the way Bellamy's tone goes from heated and threatening, to careful and soft. Maybe it's the fact that Roan can't even begin to understand Clarke's past in full. He doesn't know what, but something makes Roan half-face Bellamy and nod, corners of his lips turned up slightly.

"If anyone's gonna get me for hurting Clarke, it's gonna be her." Bellamy barked a laugh at that, a new fondness in his eyes.

"I'll be second in line, don't you worry." He slapped Roan's back, probably as hard as he  _physically_  could, and headed back the way they came. Roan stood there for a moment, letting the interaction set in.

He'd never had any intention of being anything other than a friend, if you could call them that really, to Clarke. Roan tried to shrug it off, starting down the hallway for what lunch he still had time for.

After the initial six months were up they had to reorganize the lunch schedules, this time extending the interval to twelve months with four groups of three. The clans were still wary of each other, but the animosity had died down quite a bit.

They didn't have much choice, trapped under the ground together, after all.

That, of course, meant that Clarke and Roan's daily meals were gone. They still had evenings, but with everyone getting settled still they were rarely alone. Echo seemed to take an interest in Roan's life, having been too busy organizing people for the first few months in the bunker to spend too much time around him.

Not that she hadn't always been interested in his life, what with him being king, but she seemed to keep a careful watch on him now that she had the time again. Wherever he went, he felt eyes on him.

Some spy she was.

It was their seventh month in the bunker when she finally confronted him.

"My king," Echo announced herself, knocking on his door.

"Come in." Roan dragged a hand down his face, sitting up on his bed. "Say whatever you came to say."

"I believe you're getting too close to the Commander," Echo stated solidly, eyes unwavering. "The other ambassadors will soon feel threatened by the sway you could have on her decisions, which may lead them to act."

"And what, exactly, will they do? If one clan moves against another it will either lead to a bloodbath, likely ending humanity, or the aggressor will be detained and isolated." Roan watched her think, coming up with her next words. He wished she wouldn't, really.

"I believe the proximity of your relationship is the problem. I would advise thinking of choosing a representative for your people." Echo stood firm, watching him carefully.

"I am the leader of my people, I  _am_  the representative." Roan bit out, frustrated with Echo's behavior.

"That is a part of the  _problem_ , my king, the other ambassadors-"

"Can take any issues up with me, if they see fit." His tone was dismissive and Echo caught on. She bowed her head, leaving the room.

Roan leaned back on the bed, heaving a heavy sigh. He was growing tired of people assuming to know about his life, about Clarke.

After that night, he tried to maintain a friendly distance between them. It wasn't difficult, with how busy they both were, and he near always had a truthful excuse waiting when she approached him. After almost a month of this, the friendliness of the distance seemed to disappear.

Roan couldn't say he was surprised when Clarke began seeing someone. He hadn't really seen it coming, but it wasn't the most shocking thing to happen either.

She was a little older than Clarke, in her mid-twenties, part of the Podakru- they had lived near Azgeda territory, by the five vast lakes. The girl had a light brown complexion, scattered freckles covering every surface of visible skin. Echo had been the one to tell him, saying they'd met when the girl had brought her little brother into the med-bay for a reckless injury.

Harmony, the girl, had lived on a beach beside the largest of the five. She'd taken over as the chief of them when she turned seventeen, the youngest and quickly greatest chief they had seen. Her people said it was her birthright, her mother had named her after the land they lived on.

Roan simply ignored Echo's attempts of getting a rise out of him, knowing that it changed little.

When he saw Clarke and Harmony sitting together in a tucked-away hallway, laughing on the floor, he saw that it changed more than little.

After two years in the bunker they held a vote to have open lunches, the cafeteria serving lunch throughout the day until a certain time and people could eat whenever they wished. It passed, all ambassadors agreeing that they felt their people were ready.

It meant Roan had the misfortune to occasionally get his rations at the same time as Clarke and Harmony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have a beta/editor but I tried to fix any mistakes, but let me know if I missed any! I'm just about done rewriting the ending, so I'll see you again in two days :-)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A turning tide and making mistakes (or are they?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna start shouting out commenters from the previous chapter from now on, so a real big thank you to denishaw and RayanneJD! And as always, I tried to pick up on any mistakes I made but I apologize if there are any still.
> 
> Also a warning! There is M content towards the end of the chapter, but nothing super explicit!

Roan wasn't sure what switched. One day Clarke was sitting with Harmony, laughing quietly about something she said, the next she was plopping unceremoniously across from Roan. He wouldn't say it's unwelcome, but it _is_ surprising.

He didn't ask her about it until a week later, the two of them in their small study like they'd never left. Clarke had let him look at her drawing again, and he'd flipped to a picture of Harmony, a wide, happy smile on her face, mouth open like she was laughing at something Clarke had said.

"What did happen with you two?" Clarke looked up at him, mildly shocked by the question. She lowered her gaze again, and he would call it bashful if he didn't know better.

"We had an argument. She said I talked about, uh, work too much." She peeked up at him, knowing he didn't buy it. "Well, you, actually. She said I talked about you more than I had actual conversations with her."

"Did you?" Roan a year ago would've said he asked it offhandedly, like he didn't care. Now he stared at her, eyes all but demanding an answer.

"Yeah," Clarke breathed, and he watched as she carefully hid something from reaching her face.

Roan watched her watch him, the two of them just sitting in their usual seats a few feet away from each other. After a minute, Clarke turned her eyes back down to the book she held and Roan took it as a cue to continue flipping through her sketches.

One towards the end gave him pause as he stared at himself; a flat, charcoal version of himself. Normally when he'd seen images of himself like this, he always looked stoic or regal, above the world. Clarke made him look human. His hair was down, reaching below his shoulders, and he had a wide grin on his face.

One thing he'd noticed about Clarke was that she preferred drawing people smiling and laughing, always a real event. She could look at one of her pieces and tell him exactly what memory she'd been thinking of. Now, looking at this, he understood the feeling.

They'd been sitting in the cafeteria on a rare day alone, Lisa and Edmon nowhere in sight, and Clarke had been narrating a detailed story from one of their first days on the earth. She'd been talking with her hands, and it had been the sheer excitement she exuded that had gotten to him.

Clarke's joy had become a contagious thing to him.

He glanced back up at her, seeing a light smile on her face. She looked tanner, somehow, which struck him as odd because as pale as she was she should definitely not be getting more _tan_ underground.

She chanced a look up at him, eyes darting back to the book as her cheeks grew even tanner. Then, all at once, Roan realized what had happened.

She was _blushing_.

Her blood wasn't red anymore, so would that account for things like blushing to have a visible difference? It was just more blood flow, wasn't it? Roan ducked his own head, hiding a small smile in the guise of flipping through the pages- not that he _wasn't_ looking at them.

Roan sat like that, staring at himself for another minute, and wondered when Echo would call him out on the change.

Immediately, it seemed. Well, in her own way.

She passed by them as they walked together, eyeing him in a way that said _I know exactly what's going on here, I'm not blind_. He glanced at Clarke; if she noticed she didn't let on.

Clarke became a constant factor in his daily life again, which Roan certainly wasn't about to _complain_ about. He noticed the wary gazes spread from Bellamy and Echo, starting with Abby. Roan got one look at her face one day and knew what he was in for.

"How's Clarke?" It wasn't subtle and wasn't meant to be. He could sense the accusation.

"She's well. She does come by and see you often, I assume you could ask her?" Roan's tone was pleasant enough- as pleasant as he could make it while Abby tried staring him down- and her eyes narrowed.

"Yes, but seeing as how you're with her just as often I assumed you would know." The thing about having a staredown with Abby like this is that it only ended badly for Roan. In the event that he won, she would like him even less and be snider, colder. If he lost, she would assume to know every detail of his relationship- which, he would remind her, is strictly platonic- with Clarke and pry into their daily lives.

It was getting really tiring, dealing with people poking their fingers at him at every turn.

The one person he hadn't expected questions from was Clarke.

"Have people been annoying you?" His gaze snapped up to hers, and something in it let her know. "My mom or Bell?" He barely held back a grimace. Clarke's eyes darkened, a frown deepening. She didn't make a move to get up, to do anything really. She just looked back down at her journal and continued her sketch.

The following morning, neither her mother nor Bellamy made eye contact with him, which Roan had to admit was nice. It served as a reminder that Clarke was a force to be reckoned with.

Weeks went by without much change, the two of them making their way into the study whenever they had a free evening. As the weeks turned to months, they found that there was less for them to do around the bunker. The clans were pretty well-adjusted, minor disputes handled easily by their ambassadors.

Three years wasn't a long time, not really, in the grand scheme of one's life.

It had been the longest three years of his life. Not necessarily in a negative way, it was just the way time moved when you were deprived from the sun.

"Is this how it was? Living in space." Roan asked Clarke as she laid on his bed, flipping through one of the novels he'd decided to hold on to.

"I think so? I mean you never really notice when it's all you know. When we got on the ground..." Roan watched her eyes grow wistful, a small smile tugging at his mouth. "When we landed it was just _new_ , you know? Everything was a new experience. We had things to discover and learn. On the Ark, it was just like... Like we were living half-lives, breathing but not living. You don't even know until you find what you've been missing." Clarke sighed, clearly still lost in some of her better memories.

"It's pretty much what I thought it would be, being down here. Except it's worse than the Ark in a way. I can't just go to a window and look at the earth. Guess I wouldn't really want to now, though." Clarke mumbled the last bit, rolling on her side. He looked at her back for a moment before crossing the room to sit next to her. She wasn't reading, just staring at the wall.

"There isn't anything you miss?" Clarke shifted to look at him, eyes thoughtful.

"Playing chess with Wells," she said after a bit. Roan settled next to her, waiting for her to go on. She rarely talked about Wells, she'd only mentioned his name a couple other times since she'd told him about Charlotte.

"Before he was Chancellor Jaha, he was just Thelonius. Friend of my dad's. Dad to my friend. The four of us would get together once a week and watch recordings of sports games from Before. Wells had always said he'd be an athlete if he'd been born Before. He really would've, too." Clarke didn't look pained as she spoke, she actually smiled as she spoke.

"When Wells and I were really little, before we knew pretty much every inch of the Ark, we'd wander around _all the time_. We'd usually wind up getting lost for hours until we realized we were just going in giant circles. Hey don't look at me like that, pretty much everything looked the same!" Clarke smacked him playfully, seeing his amused grin.

Roan rested his head on his arm as he watched her talk, seeing how she used her hands to elaborate particular points. Her eyes lit up when he asked about something she'd wanted to talk about, the smile never leaving her lips.

He wasn't sure when she went quiet, probably because he was already drifting into sleep. The motion sensors in his room had been off for a while so he's at least sure she's still there. He can hear her breathing next to him, in sync with his own.

Roan dreams of a sunny field, his younger siblings around him. A girl with blonde hair sits beside him, watching them. He feels her put an arm around his waist, her head on his chest. It's probably the most at-peace he's felt in a long time. She smells like cloth bandages and soil, possibly the strangest combination he's ever experienced but it calms him to the core.

He woke the next morning to a face full of hair, her arm wrapped around him and head on his chest.

When she did wake up, shifted closer into his side, burying her nose in his neck. Roan just maintained steady breaths, choosing to enjoy the moment rather than dread its end. Clarke seemed to have a similar idea, playing with the hem of his shirt. The small movement brought Roan's hand to her hair, fingers toying with the tresses.

The day was normal enough after that, the two of them still going about their daily business. If anyone noticed they hadn't changed out of the previous day's clothes, they didn't mention it.

Roan figured that, somehow, Clarke had something to do with that.

The first sign that something has really shifted- not with Clarke, seemingly with everyone else around them- comes about two weeks later. Nothing of his behavior around Clarke had stood out to him as odd, they just continued in the same pattern they'd created together.

A conversation he overhears, however, is proof enough.

"I'm just not sure. We all knew they were close, but this seems-"

"I know. He displays his status with her so casually, we are all on edge."

"I do not think it is an issue, ambassadors." Roan recognized the third man as Uzac of Yujleda. "On all votes we have held, there has been a majority or unanimous agreement among us."

"I understand," both men responded, bowing their heads. Uzac had always been the most respected ambassador, trusted tremendously by every Commander he had overseen. Roan knew he couldn't trust on Uzac to put their minds at ease at every turn, however, and thought of Echo's words long ago.

He already knew who he wanted to represent the clan in his stead.

Over the next two weeks, he put most of his effort towards training the next Azgeda ambassador. The two of them woke to train, ate together, and studied until it was time to sleep. If Clarke noticed he was busy- he knew she did- she didn't let it show. Rather, she seemed to put most of her energy towards other things after the first week.

Roan felt like they backpedaled.

Whenever they were eating meals at the same time- a rare occurrence, since Clarke didn't seem keen on sticking to any form of schedule- she was typically with either Bellamy, Raven, or Lisa. She glanced at him a few times at first, but by the second month of the new schedule she hardly acknowledged him.

Five months in and she stopped appearing in the lunchroom when he was there at all. They saw each other at ambassador meetings once a week, though other ambassadors seemed to always have something to say to her.

He spots her talking to Jackson one day in the med-bay, only there at Monty's request to drop something off for Abby, and Roan decides it's probably the only chance he'll get.

"Clarke," he started, watching her turn sharply in surprise. "Could I talk to you? Not now." She thought about it, a slight frown on her face.

"Sure. The study tonight." Roan nodded, dropping the bag off with Abby on his way out. Roan went to his daily training, leaving early with a brief, "remember to study," as he went. He wasn't sure how early or late Clarke would get there, but he was sure he needed to be there first.

"Tonight" for Clarke meant well past when most other people went to their beds, it seemed. Roan had almost finished his second novel since he arrived when he heard the door slide open. Clarke was quiet, sitting in her seat. She stared at him, expectant.

"You're mad that I started ignoring you." Clarke scoffed, rolling her eyes at him.

"Not mad. Upset, maybe. Confused. Hurt." Roan dropped his gaze to the floor at that, a frown that mirrored hers on his face.

"I'm stepping down as ambassador," this got her attention, he could feel her eyes snap up to him. "I've been training Edmon to step up. He is my Second, I trust him to do it more than anyone."

"Why?" He risked a look up at her and wondered, not for the last time, why he always did that. When Clarke felt or thought something she practically screamed it with her eyes.

"The ambassadors feel threatened by our-" Roan stopped, not sure how to word it. "They feel I have too much sway on your opinion. Should there be a time for important decisions to be made, they may plan a coup if you listen to me above them." Clarke's frown deepened.

"We haven't needed to plan anything big since we picked our hundred. I don't-"

"I'm not saying it _will_ happen, just that tensions are high." Roan's voice was soft, strange on his ears. Clarke huffed out a breath, hugging her knees.

"That's ridiculous, just because we're close doesn't mean I can't separate feeling from logic." Roan let his lips turn up into a smile, a small laugh echoing in his chest. "Why didn't you just tell me? I would've supported you, y'know."

"I know. I don't know, I just," Roan stopped with a sigh. "I didn't want to give them more fuel. They need to know all ambassadors have an equal voice." Clarke nodded, a small smile on her face, hopeful.

"So we can start hanging out again? After Edmon's an ambassador." Roan nodded back, feeling his body relax for the first time in over five months.

Time seemed to pass a little quicker after that.

In what seemed like a week, a month had passed. He and Clarke saw each other more often- not that that was saying much since they were coming back from zero- and Roan saw the wariness fade from her friends' eyes.

Raven was the most amicable towards him, a surprise after what had happened at Becca's lab when he'd been certain she hated him. Abby was warmer, her grins looking less like grimaces. One day, Bellamy offered him a terse nod, and Roan was pretty sure that was the best he could ever hope for from the man.

More months pass, Edmon advancing quicker than he'd expected, and one day Roan looks at the younger man and _knows_.

The ambassadors take the news unsurprisingly well, welcoming the new face eagerly. Roan simply watched and wondered how they hadn't snapped, with how the news settled under their skin like fine plum wine. Uzac managed to convince the ambassadors that a celebration was in order- this news, of course, reached Monty who insisted on making moonshine for the occasion.

As soon as Monty's batch was ready- it had taken about two weeks, using all of the produce that was on the brink of expiration- Clarke begrudgingly agreed to the party.

"I think it's a good idea." Roan admitted, the two of them in their study. She had been complaining about how she dreaded that night, mostly since it was a strain on their supplies. She looked at him, baffled.

"We've been down here for almost three years now, Clarke, people need _something_ to celebrate. Who's to say there'll be another opportunity for the people to have fun." Roan grinned, closing his book. Clarke sighed, letting his words soak in.

"You're right, I just- I don't know, it feels like a bad idea." Roan chuckled to himself, knowing that Clarke refused to _enjoy_ things sometimes. She had agreed to show up to the event that night, even if it was just to oversee and make sure nothing too bad happened.

Kane had promised he and Abby would spend the night locked in the control room, just to make sure nobody's hazy mind thought leaving the bunker was a good idea. Clarke said it both put her mind at ease and made her nauseous.

When the time came, Roan convinced her to leave the solitude of the study. There was already well over six hundred people gathered, clustered in groups. Roan felt his heart swell in pride when he saw the groups were age and activity-based, not clan. They were as integrated as Roan had ever seen them.

The bright smile on Clarke's face was almost blinding.

"Clarke!" Monty grinned, stumbling over to them with a laugh. He threw an arm around her shoulders, smiling wider. "Roan!" Monty was too short to really fit an arm over his shoulder, but he settled on offering a sharp slap on the back. "Welcome to the party, remember: fun only!"

One person after another approached Clarke, each coaxing more laughs out of her until Roan saw the tension in her shoulders melt away.

"Clarke, girl, you can't _seriously_ just stand here all night." Raven gasped, grabbing Clarke's hands in her own.

"Rae, I don't think-"

"No, you _do_ think, it's part of your problem. C'mon!" Roan watched as Raven dragged Clarke away, the latter sending him a pleading look. He simply shrugged, letting Edmon guide him through the crowd.

Roan wasn't sure when he'd last seen such a large celebration, so many happy faces. It felt surreal for a moment, the fact that he was standing there amidst a crowd of joyous bodies.

Someone put a cup in his hand and he eyed it warily. Edmon grinned at him, taking a more-than-generous sip out of it, telling him it was safe. Roan chuckled, sipping from the cup.

He wasn't sure how much time passed after that, or how many cups had been shoved his way. The drink was sweet, whatever Monty had made, and slid down his throat easily. The shift seemed to happen all at once, once second he'd been standing and the next his vision seemed to lag, colors stretching and distorting.

He made a mental, groggy note to never drink anything Monty made again.

The room was warm, sweaty, stifling. He couldn't really find it in himself to leave. Roan swayed for what could've been seconds or hours until someone bumped into him. He glanced down, the smile he saw infectious.

"Roan, you disappeared!" Clarke yelled, leaning up on her toes to reach his ear. He didn't think she'd really needed to wrap her arms around his neck. He didn't really think.

"No, I think you did that first," he shouted back. Clarke laughed quietly, her breath tickling his neck. There was a strand of hair in front of her face and he almost reached a hand to push it away; the second he thought about his hands he felt that they were on her waist.

"Come with me," Clarke beckoned, detaching herself- even in the humid room he felt the loss of contact, neck colder. She grabbed his hand, leading him out on uncoordinated legs. He wasn't sure where they went to at first, stepping into an unfamiliar area.

It took him a second to recognize the Skaikru hall, the door opening to reveal a room that looked almost like his.

There were papers on the walls, the desk littered with papers and journals, some used some not. A stack of books sat on the floor next to the desk, and Roan recognized some of them- all of them- as ones he'd read a few times. Clarke collapsed on the bed, flopping on her back unceremoniously.

"It was _so_ loud," she mumbled, kicking one of her shoes off. Roan sat next to her, leaning back on his hands. "I gotta admit, Monty learned a lot from Jas. Dunno how he did it, but that was _good_ shit." Clarke started to ramble, words spilling out of her like a flood.

Roan tried to keep up, periodically getting distracted. First it was her eyes, open and honest and almost dreamy as she thought about happier moments. Then her lips, the way she formed words and tumbled over them. Her hands, gesturing wildly and free as she spoke. The nape of her neck, pale and relaxed and just so _open_. Her shoulder, peeking out of the shirt she wore and getting closer to him.

There was a moment of silence in the room- it could've been more, he couldn't say- and it made his eyes flash back to hers. There was something different about her look. She looked softer, darker, hungrier. There was something else, something he couldn't quite name.

Her lips, soft and pink and getting closer. They stretched into a wide smile, toothy and happy. Closer. She was saying something that went into his ears and rattled around before forming words- "Roan, do you remember that?"- and were even closer, teeth pulling on his own lips.

Her hands, reaching up around his neck. They were warm and not quite clammy but not quite comfortable either. He felt her thumb rub just behind his ear, right behind the dip where his jaw ended. One hand went higher, pulling his hair down so it sat past his shoulders.

The nape of her neck, pale and relaxed and open to him. His mouth made his way there, kissing and sucking gently. He could feel the vibration of her moans on his mouth, urging him on. He could feel her heartbeat, strong and fast and music to him. When he pulled away, the skin was wet and pink from his mouth, a smile on his face.

Her shoulder, fully exposed with the lack of her shirt. His was gone too, somewhere across the room with their pants. He bit at the soft skin, gentle enough to not leave a mark and rough enough to make her hands fly to his back, nails dragging along the skin.

He looked at her face again, the _something else_ from before prominent now.

Roan thought he understood as they moved together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to put locations for all the different names, since that's also kind of a running thing in the show! Harmony is from a little place in Ontario, CA called Harmony Beach! and Edmon is named after Edmonton, Canada since I imagine that area is also a part of Azgeda territory. And Lisa is from the Ark, one of the actual 100! Look her up on the wikia, she's predicted to still be alive since she was on Clarke's List :-)  
> Also Sagueny, Candada is a real place, and I figured it would be a pretty good capitol city choice since it is a pretty decently sized place in Quebec and is located right by a river.


	8. Chapter 8

The morning brought questions with fairly self-explanatory answers.

Clarke had already woken when Roan managed to pry his eyes apart, head pounding. He looked around the room, taking in the glass of water on the desk and folded clothes on the chair. Roan felt the bed next to him, finding it cold. He felt a pit of dread in his stomach, realization crashing on him more than he cared to admit.

She regretted it.

Roan rose, putting a hand on his head in an attempt to help the hammering. His vision practically pulsed as he stood there. Several minutes of deep breathing later, he managed to tug his clothes back on.

He sat in the chair, head in his hands. He looked down at the papers- just trying to ground himself, not to actually examine them- but his eyes were involuntarily drawn to an image. It was messier than Clarke tended to do, which he would've found strange had it not been done, he assumed, with an accompanying headache.

It was Roan, face half-buried in her pillow. There were no creases on his face, a small smile on his face as he slept. It wasn't just one, either. Lower on the page was the curve of his back, scars framing his shoulder blades and running down his back. One of his hands, gripping bedsheets. One of him staring at her, the memory still fuzzy in his mind, smiling in what he could only call love.

It was almost an epiphany.

Rather, it  _would_ be an epiphany if it wasn't something he'd become acutely aware of last night. Because having an epiphany implies it is, in fact, the first time you realize something, which made him wonder.

Was it an epiphany at all?

_Roan laid there, fingers gently detangling Clarke's hair. His mind was moving slower than it normally did, but somehow also faster. He could still smell the cloth bandages from the med-bay and the scent of whatever the_ hell  _Monty had concocted. He heard her mumble something incoherently, her lips brushing his neck._

_Roan had a moment where he closed his eyes, imagining waking up like this every morning. Clarke in his bed- in this case, him in hers- and smiling against his neck, one hand on his chest and the other slung across his hips. He pictured his mouth grinning, the words 'I love you' slipping out._

_'I love you.'_

_Roan realized, with only mild concern, that he did. He'd been heading down this path since the moment he'd met her, knife held to her throat, and it was a little alarming while simultaneously the most soothing realization he'd ever had._

Roan sighed, balls of his hands pressed into his eyes. He wondered how long she would avoid him after this.

The answer to that is, apparently, not at all.

Clarke was in the med-bay when he passed it, laughing at something Lisa had said. He paused, blinking once, twice. She inspected their inventory, keeping logs of what was easily available. Joked with Lisa and Jackson. Met his gaze and waved, turning to continue work.

Alright, Roan decided. If she wanted to continue like they had, he could do that.

They still met in the study, she still sketched and he still read. They met for lunch most days, Edmon and Lisa eventually joining them. When the weekly ambassador meeting rolled around, he spent the time in the small gym that remained empty for him- he may not be an ambassador anymore, but he was still respected and feared enough to be granted this solitude. It was the worst month they'd spent in the bunker yet.

If Roan were an outsider looking at the two of them, he'd assume nothing was wrong.

Roan wasn't an outsider, and, apparently, neither was Bellamy.

"Roan," Bellamy's voice was low, a warning. They were in a deserted hallway, reminding Roan of on of their first interactions in the bunker. "What the hell did you do?" Bellamy spat, nostrils flaring with barely-contained rage.

"I don-" Bellamy shoved him against the wall, control slipping by the second.

"Don't say you don't know what I'm talking about. Clarke. What did you do?" He says it slowly, and if looks could kill Roan is positive he'd be bones by now. Bellamy didn't wait for him to answer, which Roan thought was probably better because he's sure if Bellamy heard his voice he'd snap.

"She's fucking  _miserable_. I tried asking her about it, if it was you, and she lied. To my face. To protect  _you_. I don't know what you did, but you better fucking  _fix_  this because this is the  _last_  thing Clarke deserves." Roan can see the years of pain festering in Bellamy's eyes, and knows it's absolutely  _agonizing_  for him to see Clarke go through this.

Roan doesn't feel much better.

He tried to think of a way to talk to Clarke, he really did. Except he couldn't. And he was out of excuses. If this was like every other fight they'd had- if you could call it that, because really they'd just defaulted to ignoring each other but that was exactly  _it_ \- then he would actually know how to handle it, how to broach the subject, how to look Clarke in the eyes. This was nothing like any previous experiences they'd had.

They'd always avoided each other until Roan seized the one opportunity she'd give him to fix it.

Except there they were, every day, sitting alone in the study. He had  _every_  opportunity to talk to her there, to say  _something_.

Except what the  _fuck_  was he supposed to say? Because he was just pretending to read at that point, glancing up to watch her sketch a few feet away. He could see bags under her eyes, saw the slight tremor when her hand stilled as she stared at her page.

He wasn't the only one.

After another three weeks, Roan had decided to swallow his pride and was going up to the control room to talk to Kane- he figured if anyone could give him rational advice it was him, he'd grown to be a paternal figure to Clarke over their years in the bunker- when he heard screaming.

"If you would just  _listen_  to me-"

"No, I am  _done_  listening to you! When was the last time  _any_  of your ideas turned out to be good?"

"Clarke-"

"No, mom, you think you know what's best for me but you  _don't_."

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Clarke. I don't think you understand how much older than you he-"

"Mom, stop! I'm twenty-one years old, not fucking  _four,_  do you think I seriously can't grasp the difference? That I'm younger than you, than him, and automatically an idiot?" He heard her voice get softer after that, "I know you've always done what you think is best, but just let me do what  _I_  think is best."

It was quiet after that, and Roan started down the hallway, feeling his ears burn. The conversation hadn't been meant for him to be privy to, he knew, but he couldn't  _move_ his  _feet_. He leaned against a wall, taking a steady breath. He figured they both needed a bit to breathe again.

No one could seem to find Clarke for the rest of the day. He was fairly certain he'd heard some version of "Have you seen Clarke?" at least twenty times by the end of it.

Roan knocked on her door when people started retiring to their beds, hoping to talk to her. Clarke didn't respond and the door was unlocked, so he turned the knob slowly. He announced himself quietly, pushing the door open enough for him to peer in.

Empty.

He frowned, eyes falling on her desk. It was neater than he'd last seen it, papers folded and shoved into various journals. There were still a few papers on the surface, and Roan made his way over to them. There were plants, various kinds, and it took him a second to process. He lifted one of the pages, smelling it.

Soil.

Roan folded the page, tucking it into a pocket as he headed out, down the hall. There were a few large hydroponic farms, each humming with the sound of lights and generators and automated water. He wandered down the isles, room after room, until he found her in the fruit room.

Clarke sat on the ground, hugging her knees to her chest. He sat down, leaning his back against the wall next to her. She didn't look at him, staring up at one of the plants.

"How'd you find me?" Roan handed her the picture, hearing her inhale through her nose. "Why did you-"

"Clarke," his voice came out quiet, more exhausted than he'd meant. He isn't sure that to say after that, and he guesses she sensed his conflict and spoke up, calmer.

"I get that you want to act like nothing happened, but I just," Clarke sighed, burying her face in her hands. He looked at her, brows furrowed together. "I don't know if I  _can_ anymore, Roan. I mean, look at me, I look like I've hardly slept but I've slept  _every_ night except I wake up every ten goddamn minutes because I keep thinking about it and-" she stopped herself abruptly, and he takes it as his cue.

"Where did you get that? That I, what, want to act like nothing happened?" She looked at him, frowning.

"Because that's what you said? You were like, and I'm pretty sure I'm quoting you here, 'Clarke, I'll always feel the same way about you.' As in, you'll always see me as a friend, I get it."

_They laid there, their breathing returning to normal. Clarke laid on his chest, still sweaty and slightly slurring her words and grinning at him._

_"Well_ that  _was certainly something," she laughed, tracing Roan's collarbone with a finger._

_"Clarke, I-" Roan wasn't sure how to word this, how to put words together at all, really, when she was laying there, her presence practically as intoxicating as Monty's drink. "No matter what, I'll always feel the same way about you, I want you to know that."_

_Clarke didn't respond, but eventually the hand on his chest stilled and he figured she'd fallen asleep. He put a hand on her hair, trying to work knots out of the mess._

Clarke, obviously, did  _not_ get it.

Roan couldn't help his reaction; he fucking  _smiled_. Because it was bad that this had affected her health, but Clarke  _hadn't_ wanted to pretend either. A laugh bubbled out of his chest, finally getting her to look at him. Clarke glared at him, punching his shoulder.

"I don't know if you'd  _noticed_ but I don't think it's funny," she grumbled, giving him the chance for an explanation which he figured was probably more than he deserved for laughing like that.

"Maybe I should have worded it like this then," Clarke lifted a brow, eyeing his grin warily. "You are one of the most important people in my life, Clarke, and nothing that happens will ever change that." Clarke smiled sheepishly, her cheeks warming to a darker tan.

"Well that's good, because you're one of the most important people in my life." A smile wormed onto her lips, and Roan felt his chest warm.

They were quiet after that, a step closer to where they were headed. Clarke leaned against his shoulder, the two of them just enjoying each other's company. Eventually he heard her breathing even out, proving just how weary she'd let herself become. He shifted, lifting her carefully, and brought her to her room.

It was some of the best sleep he'd gotten in almost two months.

It was easier between them after that, and over the weeks he watched the bags leave her eyes and unease leave her step. Abby and Bellamy looked at him like he was the worst thing they'd ever seen again, but he didn't let it bother him for the most part.

When they hit the four year mark, Monty begged to have another party.

"No." Clarke had said, point-blank. Roan had just chuckled, knowing she was thinking about the months of distress the last celebration had brought. Unfortunately, Monty had found a way to mention the idea to Uzac at some point, who brought it up at the meeting.

Everyone but Clarke was in favor so the proposition passed, much to her chagrin and Roan's as he listened to her complain about it.

"Clarke, we are literally the  _only_  two people who were negatively affected. And only briefly. It will be  _fine_ ," Roan stressed, getting a frustrated huff out of her. He looked back down at his book, wondering why she was so against the celebration. Sure, things between them had been tense but they were mostly over it.

Right?

He looked back up to her, finding her staring sadly down at the journal, hand still. He set the book on the arm of the chair, arms crossed. She pointedly didn't look at him.

"Clarke." Nothing. Roan sighed, pushing himself up. He crossed the small room, kneeling by her chair. His mind wandered to the days where she would offer to show him her sketches and he would sit like this, at her side, as she told him stories of her past. She closed the cover as he settled next to her.

"Tell me what's wrong," his voice was gentle, quiet. She glanced at him, a frown tugging at her lips.

"I don't know." Clarke muttered, avoiding his gaze again. He reached a hand out and she snatched hers away, looking even further away from him.

"Fucking- Clarke, what is wrong?" Roan's voice rose a fraction, tone harsher than he's used since they were above ground, at each other's throats.

"Just don't touch me, Roan, I can't-" Clarke snapped her mouth shut, blocked her face from his view.

"Can't what? What can you not do, Clarke? You can't touch me, you can't even  _look_  at me," her head whipped towards his, eyes brimming with tears.

"I can't just  _stop_  how I  _feel_ , I'm sorry if you can't get that through your thick fucking skull." The words came out harsh, her face darker than he'd ever seen it. Roan felt like an idiot, suddenly, because he  _really_  hadn't been clear enough for her.

He'd need to simplify this as much as he could, then.

"I love you."

Clarke just stared at him, blinking as a few tears fell down her cheeks. He couldn't really tell what she was thinking, or if she was actually thinking  _anything_. She just stared. Blinked. Kept staring.

"Are you kidding me?" Roan felt like if he responded to that, he'd snap. "No, Roan, I'm one-hundred percent serious right now, because if this isn't seriou-"

"I love you, Clarke." This was probably the most honest he'd ever been with anyone, and the thought made his heart beat in his temple, in his ears, his thumbs.

"Okay," she nodded weakly. "Okay. Roan, first, you  _really_  should've said that sooner. I guess I should've too, actually. Right. I love you, too, you know." Clarke was smiling, small and careful but it was all he needed.

"Well that's good to know." Roan laughed, wiping the trails of her tears. She leaned over, pressing her lips against his. He could feel her still smiling on him, her hand behind his head, thumb rubbing the dip where his jaw ended.

The bunker seemed a little brighter after that. Clarke started coming to his room more often, usually just to draw or read or talk about anything and nothing. He certainly didn't mind.

One day he saw her drawing things from above ground again, and he asked what had sparked it.

"I'm just trying to create whatever I can, I guess. To remember what things looked like before." Clarke stated laughing at that, and he lifted a brow in curiosity. "Sorry it's just. Before. It's what we called life before the third world war. Or  _praimfaya_  I guess. Now there's a new Before, one I experienced."

"Why'd you stop showing me? Your journals." Clarke flushed, sheepishly grabbing one of the journals in her stack- he'd come to her room this time, an occurrence just as often as her coming to his.

He opened it, flipping through slowly. The first few pages were of people in the bunker. Monty, Abby and Kane, a couple of Bellamy. A lot of Roan. On almost every other page was a different image of him, so many that he couldn't even recall when all of them were.

"I started drawing you before that night. Afterwards, it helped me cope with the fact that I couldn't be with you." Clarke admitted quietly, and he grinned up at her. He found a sheet that had been folded in half, the one of that night, of him smiling at her like she was the best thing he'd ever seen- she was.

"This one's my favorite," he said, earning a wide smile out of her.

"I don't know, I like the real thing a lot better."

The next month was probably the most relaxing one he'd gotten to spend underground. He and Clarke's daily schedules didn't change much, the only real difference being they spent more time in each other's rooms- and, yes, while they did spend time enjoying the bed they spent just as much if not more time just relaxing, existing in each other's company after a day of stress.

And then Raven brought them the news.

Roan stood between she and Clarke, Abby next to Kane and Monty with Miller and Jackson. She'd asked them all to the control room because they'd all been there at Becca's lab, all knew how Clarke was a nightblood.

"The rad levels outside haven't gone down." Roan had heard Clarke use the phrase 'ripping it off like a band aid' and finally felt like he had a good example for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was exciting :-) In risk of sounding like a broken record at this point, I tried to pick up on any mistakes I made but I'm sorry if I missed any! Let me know how you feel so far about the story, or about anything else really


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple chapters left to go :-)  
> Thanks to reviewer+only and rosaville on the last chapter, and see you again in two days on the next one!

Roan just stood there, thinking all hell was about to erupt in the bunker.

Months had gone by, things looking more and more grim each day. Abby had nearly lost her head the day Raven told them, threatening Clarke, then Jackson, even Roan and Kane. She swore at nearly everyone in the room, Miller and Monty the only two to get out unscathed.

Clarke had, of course, suggested radiation experiments.

Roan would be first to admit that he was against the idea, had said as much himself. But he also understood Clarke's point.

In the end, Kane had talked both Abby and Clarke down.

"It isn't our decision to make, Clarke, and it isn't yours. The embassy has to vote on this."

That meeting had lasted  _hours_ , and Clarke's voice was raw as if she'd had to raise her voice for the majority of it. They had, ultimately, decided that Clarke was an absolute necessity and not to be put at risk.

Roan wouldn't lie and say he wasn't relieved.

Clarke had Jackson running tests on her blood, though, which was the safest albeit slowest option they had. She gave as much as often as she could over the months, but about four months before the five year mark Abby had found out.

Roan hadn't been there, but had heard a very detailed account from Miller who  _had_.

"Abby was... crazy. It was like being there, in Becca's lab, all over again. She didn't get the radiation chamber, though, just everything else in Jackson's back room. She ripped shit off the walls, shoved everything off his desk. She broke the vials of blood that Clarke had given Jackson."

Kane had agreed that Abby needed to be taken out of there, and Roan had seen something flicker behind her eyes right before Clarke suggested solitary.

When five years was only two months away, the embassy held another long meeting. Each ambassador gathered their people separately, keeping the crowds as small and contained as possible, and told them the news.

Roan had to stand in front of his people, Edmon beside him, that they were stuck in the bunker for an undetermined amount of time.

So there they were, about four weeks away from the day they should've been able to leave.

With Abby locked up it would be easier, Clarke had said to him- he wasn't actually sure if the assurance was for him or for herself. She had insisted on giving Jackson more blood, which was fine in  _moderation_  because, though she seemed to forget the fact, she actually needed her blood to have strength to walk around, much less be a  _leader_.

One day he watched Clarke sway as she stood up in his room, announcing she'd be going to the med-bay, and Roan decided it was  _enough_.

"Clarke, come here," he pat the bed next to him, shifting to make room for her.

"I can't, the med-bay-"

"Is going to be perfectly fine without you. They have Jackson and Lisa, and every other person you've helped train," Roan watched her shoulders sag as she stepped towards the bed, climbing next to him.

In spite of everything, Roan felt a smile slip onto his face, an arm pulling Clarke closer to him. She just sighed, letting herself relax little by little as they sat there. He listened as her breathing became deeper, evening out. He put a cheek against her head, book all but forgotten at his side.

It was the most peaceful he'd been since just before Raven announced the radiation levels.

He had a feeling it would be the last for a while.

The next morning, Roan felt Clarke still at his side. A rush of warmth and relief flooded through him at the realization, the scent of cloth bandages and soil filling his nose. He heard her soft breathing by his neck, her thumb rubbing at his hip.

"How long have you been awake?" Roan mumbled, stretching his stiff back.

"About ten minutes. Didn't want to wake you," she pulled him back down to her, her nose in the crook of his neck. He got one look at her face and knew she'd barely slept, or at least hadn't slept  _well_.

"You should sleep more, you look like hell." Clarke snorted at that, a brief smirk crossing over her features. She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, leaning back on her hands. Roan just sighed, moving over behind her. He dropped his chin onto her shoulder, tilting his nose towards the crook of her neck.

Clarke was headstrong and felt passionately about everything she cared about, it was one of the things that had drawn him towards her. The way she spoke with fervor, how her needs were never actual  _needs_  because her people came first.

Roan sighed into her skin, an arm snaked around her waist, and wished she would take a chance to breathe every now and again.

Clarke wasn't really the 'stay still and breathe' kind of person.

She threw herself into her work in the med-bay, taking on almost all of Jackson's shifts herself so he could work on the nightblood. The exhaustion was catching up to her, creeping towards her slowly, and she had elected to ignore it.

Roan bit back a comment when she walked into his room, pale and shaky, and climbed into his bed to sleep. He felt like she still heard the words  _For a doctor, you don't seem to understand basic human needs_.

The embassy decided that they needed to host another great party, only slightly more restrictive than the last.

"The people need to know that all joy is not lost, and a celebration of life shall put them at peace," one of the ambassadors had said.

"Yes, our people need a 'moral-boost' as well."

They had went on like that, each agreeing that their people were lifeless and needed to know hope again. Clarke's account of the conversation had been, he assumed, dramatized but on the right path.

"I'm tired of them saying 'my people' and 'the what-have-you-kru!' I don't get how they think that after these past years we're still separate people," Clarke had muttered bitterly, his hand running knots out of her hair in attempt to soothe her.

"We have lived separate for generations, five years is little to them." Roan could tell Clarke didn't like the response, but it was the truth.

"We can't afford to be twelve different people, not after this." Clarke went quiet after that, sighing deeply before settling for sleep.

Roan knew she was right, and he knew she would find a way to unite them; make them one clan in a way Lexa never had.

Roan heard the blast of music, felt it through the metal floors. He had a sudden thought, of his family before things had gotten quite so horrible, of the faces that looked up at him in slight awe as he and Clarke ate lunch, of the high-pitched giggles and screams he sometimes heard coming from some rooms.

"Come with me," he nudged Clarke, who sat up and followed willingly albeit confused. They walked, fingers interlocked, down several halls and down stairs before they reached the hall.

The nurseries.

They walked into one of the smaller ones, where the youngest kids were. Clarke entered first, after some silent encouraging, slow and hesitant. He heard the sound of several kids shushing others, trying to be subtle.

Roan went in after, seeing how the stiffness had left her shoulders a fraction. A smile inched onto his face, his thumb rubbing circles on her lower back. It took about four seconds before the first child approached them, walking towards them happily.

"I'm Lottie!" She extended a small hand, a gapped, toothy grin on her face.

"I'm Clarke," Roan watched her crouch down to the girl, who gave her a funny look.

"I know! You're the Commander." Lottie whispered the last part, as if it was a big secret. Clarke laughed and nodded her head, and Roan felt warmth flood his system as he saw how genuinely  _happy_  she looked.

More kids surged forward, ready to introduce themselves to the two of them. Roan felt small hands grabbing at his trousers and saw a small boy, probably not much older than six. Roan bent an arm down, letting him wrap his arms around it before picking him up into the air.

He didn't realize how popular a game it would be, and felt like a giant surrounded by little bugs trying not to squish them as they rolled at his feet. Literally, in many cases.

Roan didn't realize how hard he was smiling until the kids settled down hours later, his cheeks sore.

Clarke was relaxing on the padded floor across from him, Lottie braiding her hair- terribly, but trying her best. She had an easy look in her eyes, gazing at Roan with so much emotion he wasn't sure if he could even put a name to it all.

"Clarke, are you two in love?" Roan heard Lottie ask, seemingly unaware that he could hear even though he was only a few feet away.

"Hmm, I would say so." Clarke replied, and for a second Roan thought he forgot how to breathe because his mind just screamed  _Clarke_.

When the kids started tiring and the older ones took them to bed for the night, Clarke and Roan went back to his room lighter than they'd been before. And when Clarke asked quietly, breath tickling his cheek, what had spurred the sudden visit, it was like a broken floodgate.

"Before I was exiled, I'd had a large family. Eldest of five." He felt Clarke's hand on his shoulder, soothing him. It made it easier to talk while also making his throat close up.

"Otto had been a sweet child, surprising if you knew him later in life. I was only two when he was born, but I did my best to take care of him. When we met adulthood, he got aggressive. Constantly fighting, taking training too far. I hadn't understood at the time, but he told me just before he was exiled that our mother had given him an ultimatum.

"She'd caught him with a lover, a man named John from the Eastern Coast. She told him he'd have to cut ties and pursue a woman in the name of the kingdom, of producing an heir in the likely chance that I died before doing so. He refused. Either kill the man or be exiled, she'd said."

Roan paused for a second, just feeling the rise and fall of his chest. It wasn't as painful to say as he thought it would be, or maybe it was because he was telling  _Clarke_.

"I was seven when Winni was born. She was the first girl our mother had, so I tried to protect her. She was more of a dreamer than a ruler, even as a child. The only thing that she really picked up on was knives. I taught her how to throw them when she was six; she loved it.

"She'd been wandering around the market when a fight broke out. She got crushed under some boxes in the midst of everything, we only found her hours later. The healer said she'd died instantly.

"Lewis and Edis were twins, got into trouble constantly. I likely would have helped them, if I hadn't been so focused on my training. They'd never been cut out for ruling, and it was a relief on me that they didn't have to be. If nothing else, I'm glad they were able to live normally in my shadow. I don't know what happened to them after I was exiled, but they were gone too.

"And Lacey... Lacey adopted much of Winni's spirit. Whether you believe in it or not, there was no denying the resemblance. Lacey was even freer than Winni, wise beyond her years. I tried harder for her, tried to give her the freedom to live while protecting her as much as I could.

"I found her during my exile, living in a small fishing village on the edge of Podakru territory. She had said that after I was gone, Nia had gotten worse. She met a boy on one of her travels and decided to stay, letting the news circulate that she'd died."

Clarke was silent until the end, letting him just talk. He knew he'd been rambling, took pauses in weird places. Clarke just ran a hand along his skin, fingertips brushing over his collarbone.

Roan felt her lips on his temple, heard the rustling of her pulling the blanket over both of them. When he felt her body against his, he instinctively put an arm around her waist, letting the scent of her fill his nose as he fell asleep.

He dreams of kids, running and laughing, in a wide field. A girl with blonde hair, short, with a strip of red, sitting next to him. She smiles at him, beautiful and toothy and full of love. She puts a hand around his neck, pushing their foreheads together. She smells like cloth bandages and soil, and it's the most calming combination he's ever experienced.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to arista_holmes! Look forward to a cool announcement next chapter :-)

The embassy had gathered for a vote, the same one as usual, and again it was decided that Clarke was too valuable to lose.

She showed up at his door, fuming. Roan just sat on the bed, rereading one of his favorites as she ranted about the ambassadors, about how they were being ridiculous and even though she  _understood_  their decision she wasn't any less  _pissed_ about it.

"I just hate how they're treating the situation, like one life is worth humanity's  _chance_. If it were anyone else, one of  _them_ , they'd have no issue with the experiment." Clarke crossed her arms, sinking deeper into the blanket.

"To them,  _you are_  humanity's chance. You brought their people closer than we have ever been, brought unity," Clarke scoffed at the wording. "Once we're back Above, it's up to you to keep them that way. I've told you, five years is nothing to lifetimes of animosity, they need  _leadership_. Preferably from someone actually alive."

"I know that I just- I wish I could actually  _do_  something." Clarke turned on her side and Roan sighed, rolling to face her. He brushed her hair off her neck, feeling a shiver run up her spine, and put his lips to the skin.

"I know," and he did. He understood fully how she felt, but he also understood that she  _was_  too great a risk.

At least, that's what he'd thought until the embassy held another vote.

They'd been slowly running out of supplies, unsurprising since they were eight months overdue to leave. No one said anything, but Roan could tell the people knew. Rations were being reduced and the bunker began to feel colder since they were growing as much as physically possible in the hydroponic farm, putting a lot of humidification and heat towards the rooms.

Months after, when Raven told them that there still hadn't been any changes in radiation levels, the pit in his stomach swelled higher, up into his throat.

"How much progress have you managed to make, Jackson?" The man looked beaten down, deep circles under his eyes and paler than he'd ever been.

"Not much. All I can say conclusively is that there is always a negative reaction in the cells to radiation levels, though it takes higher amounts than most people's blood would start to react. I've been trying different techniques, but the only way we know conclusively is if-"

"If I go in the chamber." Clarke interrupted, stalking out of the control room before any of them could blink. Roan knew she wasn't headed straight there, not with Jackson staying behind. The farms were also off-limits to everyone except necessary personnel, even he and Clarke weren't allowed in.

Roan turned and started down the halls, ignoring any protests that met his ears.

The walk to their study was short, his feet moving in brisk, precise steps. He didn't know what he wanted to say or if he even could say anything, but being in that room felt like a good first step. The door slid closed behind him as he entered, spotting her blonde hair peeking over the edge of her chair.

"Don't bother, Roan, I already know what the vote will come down to." He remained quiet, inching towards her chair. Her voice got louder, cracking uncomfortably now and again.

"Do you know what next week is? The six year mark. Six years of being in this stupid fucking bunker, six years of living in a giant metal bubble, six years of keeping twelve groups of people that  _hate_ each other at peace. We have a month left, maybe."

"Clarke-"

"And don't try to tell me that we can figure it out, or we'll get through it, or that we're going to find a way out of this because we already  _have_  a way out of this! I  _need_  to get in that chamber, Roan." Her voice was pleading and he could see her digging her nails into her shoulders, arms hugging her knees to her chest.

"If you would let me talk," he started, and waited for her to take a deep breath before continuing. "I know you need to do this, and I'm going to support you." Roan knelt by her seat, slowly moving in next to her when she made room.

"Thank you," she sounded tired and meek but not defeated, and he knew she'd be alright.

"You don't need to. I love you." Roan pressed his lips to the top of her head, feeling her body sag against his in relief. Clarke ran her fingers over his lightly, his arm wrapped around her.

"And I love you."

Roan let himself enjoy the moment, a dark feeling bubbling in his chest as he thought about what was to come. He breathed in the scent of her- cloth bandages and the faintest, fading scent of soil- with closed lids, a calm settling in his heart.

After one week, the embassy held a vote and lost 7-5 to letting Clarke undergo experimentation.

Roan wasn't sure if he felt relief or dread at the outcome. Because Clarke was safe, but at what cost? The eventual starvation of the remainder of humanity? He wondered how the ambassadors could fear hypothetical war while staring slower death right in the face, and Clarke's impassioned words struck him.

The day of the six-year mark, there was no party.

Clarke spent the night arguing with the ambassadors, and Roan in the nursery.

Being around the children put both grief and hope in his heart, because there they were knowingly teetering at death's door but remaining bright. Lottie introduced him to her brother, Han, and proudly announced that he was her absolute favorite person in the world.

Han told him about their mother, how he'd left to travel the world at a young age and came back to show his mother artifacts and new foods. He'd come back to the village one day and one of the elders told him his mother had died during childbirth. No one had told him of the father, but Han stayed behind to raise Lottie.

There was a young boy named Leo. He had tan skin and long limbs for a boy of only nine, a mop of curly brown hair sitting atop his head. He could talk endlessly about all of the different literature in the bunker, even said that he'd write too one day.

Geneva talked less than any of them. Roan didn't know much about her, in all honesty, only that she was from a southern Delfikru village. She'd wandered into the capitol one day, announcing herself as Geneva and that she loved the color green. The ambassador had been around at the time and had been taken with her, taking her in as her second.

Roan also met a child named Zeta, a sweet curly-haired girl who smiled like the sun. She told him that before the restrictions had been put in place, she'd spent a lot of time with the workers in the farms. She loved learning about plants, dreamed of growing her own.

One morning Roan woke to an empty bed, cold beside him, and felt his gut twist. A bitter laugh left his lips as he thought of Zeta's words the night before, thinking of how Clarke was putting her life at risk for kids like Zeta.

For everyone.

The second he steps out, Echo is at his side. He hadn't paid her much mind in months, and she had respected the distance he placed and socialized with others from Azgeda. She reported news of a planned uprising, no one specific leader but instead rumor spread and fueled by word of mouth.

At least now Roan knew why Clarke had left so urgently.

He steps back into his room, the urge to look around taking over him. His eyes roamed his once-barren white walls. Now, dozens of Clarke's sketches were pinned up. He took them down carefully, folding and sliding them into a book they both loved. He didn't know why, but it felt like the right thing to do before he was off.

When he did leave, almost two full hours had passed.

The med-bay was empty for once, only younger, less-trained healers loitering about. No one tried to stop him as he entered Jackson's back room, freezing as the door closed behind him.

There was a number of medical and guard personnel lining the wall, watching him silently.

"Approaching black rain levels."

Clarke.

"Maintaining black rain levels."

The ambassadors were in another room, looking in a giant window of glass. Kane met his eyes and shook his head, a warning.

"Roan, you really shouldn't-"

"I'm staying." He interrupted firmly, staying as close as he could while maintaining a safe distance to the chamber. Clarke met his eyes, and he could see everything she'd meant to say.  _I'm sorry_  was the most glaringly obvious, right next to  _I love you_  and  _Let me do this_.

"I'm here," he wasn't sure if he could hear him or read his lips, but Clarke smiled and nodded.

"Exceeding black rain levels." Jackson said, watching the panel intently. Seconds ticked by as the radiation got stronger.

"Vitals show no signs of radiation poisoning."

Roan held his breath, jaw clenched as he stood just feet away from her. Helpless.

"Approaching current reported radiation levels."

Clarke frowned, and he saw her try to suppress a wince.

"She's in pain," Roan could feel guards approaching him cautiously but didn't have it in him to pay them any mind.

"Clarke was clear; don't stop until she's either dead or the blood reacts. Maintaining current levels."

Roan balled his fists, seeing blisters begin to blot her skin.

"Shut it down," he warned, and Jackson refused to meet his glare.

"I'm following Clarke's wishes."

Roan felt hands on him as he moved forward, watched Jackson keep his eyes firmly trained on the monitor. Then he saw the white ceiling, saw blurry faces hovering over him. Miller was among them, he hadn't seen him with the guards before but it made sense he'd be there to protect his lover.

Roan felt rather than heard himself yelling, unsure if it was trigedasleng or english. He only felt the tear of his vocal chords, felt the slam at the base of his skull as men held him down.

He wasn't sure how long it went on, really. He only knew that one moment he was staring at the ceiling, the strain of his muscles keeping him focused enough to stay awake as Miller put something in his neck. The next he was staring at the ceiling, blonde hair cascading from a blistered face, black blood smudged over her skin.

"It's okay, I'm okay." Roan heard her soothing tone as his eyes shut, the world seeming to sway under him.

He dreams of a young girl, brown messy hair and excited blue eyes, giggling and tugging his hand. A short-haired blonde sits up ahead, settled on a rock overlooking the lake. The red strand in her hair is evident, as is the wide smile on her lips. He takes one of her hands and puts it to his lips, the smell of cloth and soil filling his lungs and love in his heart.

The next time he managed to pry his eyes apart, he saw her blonde tresses, long and real and  _there_.

"Clarke," he could hear how hoarse his voice is but couldn't bring himself to care.

"I'm okay." Clarke's voice was soothing, the tension in his muscles relaxing instantly. The brief wave of relief was overtaken by worry again, and he sat up a little too fast. Clarke was sitting on the edge of his bed, her hand on his chest pushing him back down gently.

"You could've died," he murmured, bringing a hand up to her cheek.

"And leave who to lead everyone? You? Nuh uh." Clarke smiled, her cracked skin already healing. She bent down, touching their foreheads together, and placed a light kiss on his lips. Roan tried to lean into it, but her hand on his chest kept him still.

"You should rest. The ambassadors all voted that I leave tomorrow morning." Clarke laid down next to him, her head on his chest and arm over his waist.

"Then you're the one who needs to rest." Roan felt her smile against his neck, her small laugh the last thing he heard before consciousness faded away to dreamless rest. She was the last thing he thought of before letting go, her smile and her hands and her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end is nigh!! But next chapter brings a cool announcement ;-)


	11. Chapter 11

Roan woke to an empty bed for the second time, panic flooding him until he realized it was still warm.

He sprang up, drug seemingly fully out of his system, and rushed out of his room. His feet carried him straight to the control room, heart falling into his stomach when he saw the ambassadors outside the door.

It was already airlocked shut, that much he could see over their heads.

Getting to the front wasn't much of a struggle, most of them moving for him- those who didn't were thoughtlessly pushed to the side, surely sending him daggered eyes he didn't turn to see. Monty, Jackson, Miller, and Raven were all at the front, Abby nearby with two guards.

Roan saw Kane inside the control room, clad in a bulky orange hazmat suit. Clarke was with him, meeting Roan's eyes.  _I'm sorry. I love you. Let me do this_.

Roan just nodded, swallowing the lump rising in his throat

Clarke returned it, moving up to the stairs. She said something to Kane, who released the lock on the door. Clarke's body didn't react immediately, but Kane said said something and Clarke nodded. She pushed on the bunker door, then tried to leverage it upwards with her legs.

It didn't budge.

Kane moved up the stairs to help her, the pushing up with her. The door shifted the slightest bit, raising an inch. The inch turned into two, three. Clarke managed to get above Kane, using her back and legs to keep the door pried open.

She said something to Kane. He rushed down the stairs and took his helmet off, releasing the air lock on the doors. Roan was first to rush in, the door slipping open just as the lid to the bunker slammed shut.

Clarke wasn't at the top of the stairs.

Roan was first up, Kane and Uzac not but a step behind. Between the three of them, they managed to get it up just enough for a head to squeeze through- no one was foolish enough to try that, thankfully.

"There's debris everywhere, it's pinning the door down!" Clarke yelled at them, crouching to see them. "I need you to trust me, I can get it off but only if the door is closed."

"Always,  _heda_ ," Uzac said, and with his support gone the door closed a few inches.

"Please," Clarke locked eye with Roan, and he felt sick to his stomach doing it. Kane put a hand on his arm, and Roan nodded.

"I love you," he said, the door barely open.

"And I love you." When the door shut, Kane and Uzac descended. Roan followed after a minute, turning to one of the guards and told him to go get Bellamy. The man didn't take over twenty minutes, forehead lined with sweat and out of breath.

"She's out there?" Roan only nodded, and Bellamy leaned against the stairs he sat at. He didn't ask, but Roan could hear him asking  _why did you call me?_

"She'll get the door cleared, and when she does she'll want to see you. Sooner rather than later." Bellamy only looked at him, and Roan could feel him analyzing every detail of Roan's expression.

"Thanks," he seemed to settle on, and Roan answered with a terse nod.

The ambassadors all agreed to stay put, and they blocked off the entrance to the control room until it was time for an announcement. Abby pointedly didn't go near Roan, choosing to stand next to Kane.

It wasn't like Roan couldn't understand her perspective, but understanding her reasons didn't mean she had his empathy- or even sympathy, really. She doesn't look at him, much less talk to him, but he could tell Kane was trying to put her worries to rest.

By the time Clarke finally did open the door- the longest ten hours of Roan's life- Abby looked softer.

Roan is the first out, Bellamy a hair's breadth behind him, and the first thing he sees is  _Clarke_.

Then the ashes, the debris, the death of the planet surrounding them. He knew it would never be over, struggling and leading people through a harsh world, so he wasn't even surprised; just saddened.

Bellamy hugged Clarke with every ounce of strength he had, and Clarke returned the vice grip. Bellamy's nose was burrowed in her neck, her chin on his shoulder, and the man looked more at peace than Roan had seen him in years.

The moment it was over, Roan saw her return to Leader Clarke- he remembered the first time he'd seen the transition, but now he thinks he knows where his Just Roan separates from his King Roan- and turned to face the ambassadors.

Her stoic expression doesn't change even when facing 1,200 people, her people-  _their_  people, she would later correct- and told them the news.

"But this doesn't mean that we move back onto the ground and act as if these past six years did not happen. When we emerge from the ground, we do it  _together_. We do it as one united people, as the last bit of humanity that's left on earth. We do it as  _Wonkru_." Roan bit back a smile, knowing Clarke had told him Octavia had mentioned the name once. He knew Clarke was probably hesitant to use it, if only because Octavia would take the credit for 'wonkru' until she laid on her deathbed.

The people, ignorant to the intneral dilemma Clarke had had to face, cheered at her words. Roan spotted Octavia, smirking smugly, off to the side next to Bellamy.

The ambassadors agreed that it's best to stay by the bunker and live off it's resources until they manage to find someplace habitable.

There's no end to volunteers, mostly since people got to see and explore the newness of the planet, which made life a little easier. People were organized into different kinds of parties, several of each going out every day.

Hunting and gathering was less popular, but with about two hundred people it wasn't too worrying. Pure exploration was moreso, about six hundred people on that front. Many of the kids and caretakers took to keeping the bunker livable, tending to the farms and "keeping patrol" as they told the kids, an excuse to keep an eye on them and let them be entertained by something.

The day a party finally does find it- Eden, it would be called- is the first time people feel  _real_  hope, the truest, most tangible kind, in years.

It still took another two months for them to get everything set up, bringing the essentials first and then whatever else they decided they needed- mostly entailing spare clothes, fabrics, blankets, the like, and hobbies like weightlifting and art and reading.

Clarke and the ambassadors agree that protecting what was left of the earth was a top priority, putting strict rules in place to keep their land healthy.

No one was to cut trees for wood, since there was a plethora of dried wood for fires and remnants of structures to build with in the dead lands. Their water supply was to be protected at all costs, and waste to be carefully disposed of away from their water and compost area for their crops- the last thing they needed was for their waste to spread disease-causing pathogens.

Madi, a young girl they'd found during their move to Eden, showed those who left Eden to explore and gather from the dead lands how to do so safely; Madi had been living alone for six years, but spoke a little english since she'd been raised to be the next chief of her people.

Roan watched as she trained a few young girls how to throw knives to kill small animals, and it brought him back to his days as a thirteen year old, teaching Winni how to throw when she turned six.

He saw Han showing Lottie about tracking one day, explaining how he'd used the skill constantly as a nomad. He told her about some of his adventures, and Roan knew he was over-exaggerating or her but couldn't fault him of course, she looked enthralled with his every word.

When Roan found Leo one day, the boy told him he was writing a record of everything they'd gone through, of what life had been like Before. Roan had smiled and listened to him talk, offering his own bits of information from Before- Leo wanted accounts from only trusted adults, he'd said, since he only trusted the absolute best people.

Geneva actually began opening up to people other than the Delphi ambassador, starting with Madi. They were about the same age- not that the girl hadn't known others her age in the bunker, but Roan assumed it helped- and Madi seemed eager to teach Geneva everything she knew. Geneva loved to listen, a soft smile on her face.

He watched Zeta learn about real farming, digging and plowing the earth with Monty and Octavia. She looked about to burst with delight with every seed she sowed, the smile on her face contagious to those around her. Roan had told her he was glad she got to live out her dreams.

And then Clarke cut her hair, a lock dyed red- from berries Madi had found for her apparently- and Roan was struck for a second at how familiar she felt.

Roan watched as order fell further into place as the months stretched on, shelters getting built from scavenged supplies and certain clans taking on roles to best support the whole.

Podakru dealt with their water supply, watching over the fish populations and algae farm they'd cultivated. Trikru, Trishanakru, and Yujleda did a lot of scavenging, familiar with forests. Sangedakru and Boudalan did a lot of building, since the materials that tended to get brought back were familiar to them.

Other clans found new specialties, as the Skaikru and Delfikru took over much of the farming. Louwoda and Ingranronakru came together to work on more idle tasks like teaching hobbies- a necessity to stay sane, in all honesty. Many in the Ouskejon kru chose to travel further, exploring as much of the planet they possibly could.

Azgeda spent much time training the younger kids in combat, and as the summer months approached fall they became leaders in winter-survival. Azgeda had been called the Ice Nation for a reason, and as the winter cold approached they made sure everyone was prepared for it, storing enough food to tide them over.

While the cold nipped outside their door, Roan spent most of his time with Clarke. With their people acting as independents, responsible for themselves in the snowed-in conditions, they had more time to just  _exist_.

"What's that?" Roan asked, peeking at Clarke's journal- she'd made the trip back to the bunker to grab a bunch before winter.

"Oh, nothing. Just this really amazing man I know," she smiled at him, and Roan could've sworn the snow outside began to melt with it. Clarke's grin widened at his face and she leaned over, pressing her lips to his. He smiled against her, fingers in her hair as her thumb rubbed at the skin where his jaw ended just under his ear.

"Do I happen to know him?" Roan asked, feeling the small puff of air from a silent laugh.

"Not sure, he actually used to be a king. Kind of a big deal." Clarke's laughter grew, her legs on either side of his.

"Sounds like it, I hope he treats you right. Kings can get a little obnoxious." Roan grinned, hands on her hips.

"Oh he was, definitely. But, funny thing is, I love him." Clarke breathed in his ear, her lips finding their way down his neck.

"And I love you," he smiled wide, tugging off her shirt. 

When the spring came, they settled back into their previous order easily. More people picked up new hobbies and skills, enjoying the freedom to do so. Clarke found she was needed less and less as everyone worked together, Octavia's words of 'wonkru' ringing true.

She found Roan one day, pulling him out to a wide field. Kids were screaming and giggling and running loose, some older teens and adults sitting and enjoying the sun while they watched over them. Clarke brought Roan to a stream, the two of them sitting on a rock.

Clarke wrapped an arm around his waist, cloth and soil and berry filling his nose, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek, their foreheads pressed together. When Roan looked into her eyes, he saw the unabashed love exuding from them, her smile toothy and beautiful, and felt a wide grin spread over his lips, knowing his features mirrored hers.

Roan felt her lips on his, and it was like the realization finally caught up to him; they weren't just surviving anymore, they were  _living_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So a couple days ago I said I'd have a pretty cool thing to say! And I do! But first I just wanna thank you for reading this, it's my first time posting a 100 fic and the first longer fic I've ever done which is a huge personal accomplishment for me :-) And yes I know there's probably still a lot of errors and typos throughout this, but I hope it wasn't too rough a read.  
> I tried to incorporate a lot of recurring themes through dreams and sensations, so I really hope you caught onto that. I also tried to put a lot of geography into this? And I'm not sure if I ever said anything about it, but Roan's siblings are all actual locations in Canada/northern USA (Ottawa & Winnipeg, Can., Edison and Lewisburg, Pennsylvania, and the Lacey Township in New Jersey)  
> And the news is that I'm already working on another longer fic! Probably not quit as long as this, maybe closer to a 12-15k by the time I finish it, but I hope you read it when I start getting it posted :-) it'll be another roan/clarke fic, and I plan on spicing it up more after that

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to comment any thoughts you have! This will have 11 or 12 chapters, so it is definitely going to pick up! If Roan felt out-of-character let me know, or if he does in the future!


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